


All The King's Men

by 2spooky4u, your mom (2spooky4u)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Tablet, Bunker Fic, Car Sex, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester Friendship, Charlie Bradbury - Freeform, Cuddling & Snuggling, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Winchesters, Domestication, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, Fallen Angels, Fallen Castiel, First Time, Fluff, God I hate Metatron, Hiatus, Hiatus fic, Human Castiel, Human Crowley, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Castiel, M/M, Marin - Freeform, Men of Letters Headquarters, Season/Series 08, Whump, charlie - Freeform, dean and cas - Freeform, dean/cas - Freeform, healed crowley, hiatus!fic, hiatusfic, holy domestic batman, injured cas, kevin - Freeform, kevin tran - Freeform, limp!cas, prophet - Freeform, season nine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2spooky4u/pseuds/2spooky4u, https://archiveofourown.org/users/2spooky4u/pseuds/your%20mom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Sacrifice, Cas is left cold, alone, scared, and frighteningly human. How will he cope with his loss of powers? And what are these overwhelming feelings he gets whenever he's near Dean? </p><p>And just where the Hell is Crowley?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Falling Skies

**Author's Note:**

> I posted the first chapter of this the morning after "Sacrifice" on FF Net, and it got such a positive result that I decided to put it here as well. I'm still kinda new to AO3, so bear with me as I sort it all out....

 

Cas woke up cold.

 

Cold.

 

Angels don't get cold, he thought. He struggled to remember where he was and what had happened. Metatron lied. Naomi was neutralized. It was too quiet. He couldn't hear any of the angels, and it scared him.

 

He got up off of the cold, wet ground and dusted himself off. He thought of the church where Sam had been curing Crowley, but he wasn't whisked away there as he would normally be within a moment's thought.

 

It was then he realized his wings were gone, and everything Metatron had said came back to him.

 

He was human. Fragile, breakable, mortal, human.

 

And it scared the daylights out of Castiel.

 

* * *

 

Cas wandered, unused to the sensation of a weary body. He walked along the roadside, but everyone was panicking about the falling lights, worried about aliens and the like. Cas wondered what they would do if they found out what it really was.

 

It was truly a spectacle, the golden fire plummeting towards Earth all at once. Castiel's chest was tight, and he fought for breath. At one point, he had to sit down on the pavement, in hysterics.

 

Everything he fought for was in turmoil.

 

The world ended not with a bang, but with a whimper.

 

* * *

 

 

As the sun rose, he reached a gas station and all but collapsed next to the pay phone. Jimmy Novak kept a wallet, and soon he was dialing Dean's cell phone.

 

"Hey, this is Dean. I'm probably out gettin' my hide skinned, so, uh, leave a message and if I'm still alive I'll get back to you."

 

"Hello, Dean."


	2. Old Imprints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean head back to the compound, and Dean tells his brother about someone long gone.

  


  


Wake up, man," Dean said roughly. Sam was still sleeping, although they'd arrived at the hotel sixteen hours previously. Sam had crashed immediately, but Dean couldn't sleep.

  


Hell was open. Still. All that work, all of Sammy's misery, for nothing. Dean was angry at first, but it gave way to a quiet resignation. Crowley was mostly changed, and they had fought demons since they were big enough to fit in adult sized clothing.  _Nothing he couldn't handle,_  he thought.  _I would_ not  _be able to handle living out a nice life without Sam, not again._

  


But the angels were on Earth. They had literally fallen, and Cas wasn't answering. He was worried about the angel, if he still was one, if he had survived, if he was under Naomi's control again. If the other fallen, now-human angels would track him down and take revenge for their murdered brothers and sisters.

  


Any of those things could be possible.

  


* * *

  


  


Sam rolled over and slept on, recovering from the damage he had taken during the trials. Dean just looked out the window.

  


It was mid-morning when Dean pulled himself together enough to plug in his and Sam's call phones. His made a little trilling noise. Voice mail. He flipped it open and pressed play.

  


"Hello, Dean." There was a pause. "The voice told me to leave a message, so I'm leaving a message. I'm using a pay phone. I hope you are not getting your hide skinned." Another pause.

  


"I'm human, Dean, and I won't be of much use to you anymore. Goodbye, Dean, and Godspeed."

  


There was a click and the line went dead. Dean's anger surged forth once again. Cas was broken, fallen; and he could be anywhere. He played the message through again, listening to the last sentence again and again.

_  
_

_Goodbye, Dean._

_  
_

_Goodbye, Dean, and Godspeed._

  


Cas, the stupid son-of-a-bitch, thought that Dean was going to drop him as soon as he shed his feathers. Didn't he realize what he meant to the brothers?

  


Didn't he know what he meant to Dean?

  


* * *

  


  


"Wha time 's it?" Sam slurred. Dean was staring out the window into the motel parking lot, where a heavy rain fell, washing over the Impala and reflecting Dean's grey, cold mood.

  


"Time to go." Dean grabbed his phone and charger from the outlet and took his bag, which he'd never unpacked, out to the car. Sam grunted and started getting ready.

  


Dean leaned against the hood of the Impala, letting the rain wash over him.

_  
_

_I have to find Cas. He needs our help, and we need his, even if he's a human. I would never just give up on him, no matter what species he is. He's a friend, and a friend stays._

  


Dean pushed away the thought that he wouldn't be so saddened if Cas was just a friend. He focused on the water rushing down his face. He wondered absently if he'd ever been properly baptized.

  


"Dude, you're soaking wet," Sam commented as he joined Dean outside. Dean couldn't bring himself to respond.

  


"Mmm."

  


"You okay, man?"

  


"Mmm."

  


"Hey, where's Cas?" Sam asked, legitimately innocent.

  


"Let's hit the road," Dean said, effectively dodging the question. Sam frowned, but he got in the car.

  


  


* * *

  


  


Twenty miles towards the Men of Letters compound and Dean realized he was crying.

  


"Dean, did Cas..."

  


"He's gone," Dean replied bluntly. Sam's face twisted into a painted mask of pity and regret, and Dean bristled under the glare.

  


"Are you... You know, okay?" Sam asked.

  


"I don't want to talk about it." Dean didn't turn on the music, but he stared out at the rain, and the words  _wallowing in sadness_  sprang instantly to Sam's mind.

  


* * *

  


Dean felt too fucking empty.

  


* * *

  


  


Dean continued to wallow for three days, lying in his bedroom for most of the day and wandering the compound at night. Sam was recovering, slowly, but he definitely felt on the mend.

  


But as for Dean, the elder Winchester was feeling worse and worse. Sam practically tiptoed around his brother. He had never seen Dean this way before, tense and quiet and nocturnal. It seemed like every time he turned around, there were more empty bottles of beer, scotch, whiskey, vodka... whatever alcoholic beverages Dean could get his hands on. But every time he saw Dean, he didn't look drunk, just profoundly miserable. Sam realized that he was the only one taking food from the fridge, and he left plates of food for Dean. They went untouched.

  


Finally, after four days of wading through his unhappy stupor, Dean joined Sam outside, where the younger brother was enjoying being able to enjoy being outside.

  


"Nice day," Sam commented warily.

_  
_

_Are you okay?_

_  
_

_Is this about Cas?_

_  
_

_What's next for us?_

  


"Too bright," Dean grunted. He handed his brother a beer and opened one for himself.

  


"You've been drinking a lot lately," Sam pointed out, keeping his tone neutral.

  


"Yeah, well, it ain't doin' much," Dean responded. They sat in silence for a while, Dean looking at the trees and Sam looking at Dean.

  


"Dean-" Sam stated finally, about to launch into one of his long tirades about liver failure and who-knows-what-else.

  


"You remember back before the apocalypse? When Zachariah was on my ass about gettin' consent for Michael to wear me to the prom?" Dean cut him off, taking Sam by surprise.

  


"How could I forget?" Sam asked, not sarcastically.

  


"Well, remember when we went our own separate ways for a while?"

  


"Yeah. You said we should both just 'pick a hemisphere', if I remember correctly."

  


"Heh. That's kind of funny," Dean replied. "But before I gave you Ruby's knife back, you asked what made me change my mind, and I said it was a long story." Dean took a long drink of his beer.

  


"Dean, why are you bringing this up now?" Sam narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at his brother. "That was like, four years ago. Two thousand nine, right?"

  


"It's almost two thousand-fourteen," Dean mused. "Well, at that point, I was hell-bent on keeping Michael out of my skin, and Zachariah sent me five years into the future. Two thousand and fourteen."

  


"So you'll be out there walking around sometime soon? I don't understand what you are trying to tell me," Sam said, mystified.

  


"No. At least, I better not be. Zachariah sent me to the future where you let Lucy Dear ride you before Michael found a vessel." Dean closed his eyes, regretting that he had to bring this up now.

  


"Okay...?"

  


"The demons, led by you, or Lucifer-you, released the Croatoan virus onto the world."

  


"Croatoan. Haven't thought of that in ages," Sam said. "What a mess."

  


"Everyone came down with it. It was the bona fide zombie apocalypse. Night of the Living Dead, except they ran, not stumbled, and Lucifer sat on the throne."

  


"Yikes."

  


"Well, I found my way to the compound where future-me was livin' with some civilian survivors, plus Chuck and Cas. I was the head honcho of the whole thing, pick' off Croats-"

  


"Croats?"

  


"Croatoans. It's what we called the bastards."

  


"Oh."

  


"I got into quite a few arguments with myself, and I was a dick. But Cas, Cas was..." Dean trailed off, shuddering at the memory. "Cas fell. He was cut off from Heaven, his grace gone. It was the scariest part of twenty fourteen, scarier than Lucy-slash-you, night of the living Croats, and even your white tux."

  


"I had a white tux?" Sam looked utterly horrified.

  


"Yes. Yes, you did," Dean said, shivering. "But Cas, he lost his grace, and he just couldn't cope. Amphetamines, marijuana, you name it, he was on it."

  


"Cas?  _Castiel_? The angel? Same guy who didn't even realize he had a boner?"

  


"The angel. Who was perpetually stoned and fond of orgies."

  


"You're kidding."

  


"He had this look about him, this dark, steely look that scared the shit out of me. Like he couldn't bear living as a human. Losing his grace was untreatable. He was killing himself, and if You-cifer hadn't gotten to him first, the guy probably would have died of an overdose within a few months. Future Cas was so, so scary. The zombie apocalypse, that's stuff I can deal with, but..."

  


"How'd you get back?"

  


"At the motel, I got a voice mail from Cas." Dean ignored Sam's question, wanting to move on from the 2014 world.

  


"Why didn't you tell me? About the Croats- or, or me getting the date-rape from Lucifer? Or about Cas's phone call?"

  


"Didn't feel like it at the time."

  


"Dude, that's... Are you all right?"

  


"Cas is alive. He is A. W. O. L. And he is human."

  


Dean fought back a desperate sob. He was wracked with guilt, guilt that he had somehow led Cas to the belief that he would no longer be needed as a human, guilt that he had slept through his angel's call, guilt that he had let Sam go so far, go through all of that pain before stopping to look. Guilt that Metatron had won.

  


Sam watched his brother become lost in his own head, and he knew there was nothing he could say or do for Dean right now.

  


"If I had only..." Dean was crying quietly now.

  


"Dean. This was not your fault," Sam said quietly, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. Dean pulled back with a sharp intake of breath, and Sam looked at him, hurt but resigned.

  


Slowly, Dean pulled back his sleeve and motioned to his shoulder.

  


"Did I ever show you my scar?"

  


"Scar? Which one?"

  


"The lightning bolt on my forehead."

  


"Dean...."

  


"The hand print."

  


"What?"

  


"When Cas lifted me from Hell, he left a hand print. I can still feel it." Dean drew a shuddery breath. "He is my best friend and I failed him."

  


"Dean?"

  


"Yeah?"

  


"We're going to find him. No matter what."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... yeah. It's also on my FF Net, where the updates will be faster. No telling if I'll remember to post here as soon as I do there. 
> 
>  
> 
> http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9298058/1/All-The-King-s-Men


	3. Drunk And Disorderly

"I'll haf another pleese," Cas slurred. He had forgotten how easily it was to become inebriated in his new, weird form. The bartender raised an eyebrow. And the bartender had seen _a lot_  of people get drunk...

"Rough day, was it?" A slim, well-dressed young man sat down in the seat next to Cas. He wore his clothes in a manner that reminded Cas of Balthazar. He hadn't thought of that particular brother for a long, long, while...

Another angel he had condemned to death; guilty by association.

"Rough millennium," Cas commented honestly but the other guy just chuckled softly.

"Well, only nine hundred and eighty seven more years until it's over. I'm Greg."

"If only I could make it that long," Cas lamented bitterly. "I'll be in Hell before I live to see that day."

"I know the feeling, man," the Balthazar imitation agreed.

No, thought Cas, you really don't.

* * *

In a deadened police station, a middle-aged cop was doing paperwork when he got a call from the dispatcher.

"Hey, Morrison, we got a call 'bout a drunk and disorderly a few minutes ago. Down at Harry's Pub. You're closest."

"I got papers, man."

"Delegate 'em to some junior officer."

"Great idea."

Morrison yawned and stretched. Drunk and disorderly was loads easier than paperwork.

The drive to the bar took less than twenty minutes. He'd taken in loads of D and Ds here, countless individuals so inebriated that they had lost all judgment. But in all of his years on the local police force, he'd never had to arrest a foreigner for anything. What a paperwork snarl. The man who had been called in to the police about was a ruddy little man with an accent probably from England or Scotland.

"Sir, you're under arrest for-"

"YOU DARE TO ARREST THE KING OF HELL? WHAT GIVES YOU THE AUTHORITY?" Mr. British bellowed loudly, causing the surrounding people to cringe.

"Um, unless you have jurisdiction here, I'm the boss."

* * *

"Morrison?"

"What's up?"

"Got another D and D for ya."

"Aw, another? They couldn't just gotten it over with twenty minutes ago?"

Crowley came to slowly, with a throbbing headache. Ah, the joys of being close to human. He struggled to remember the events of the past few hours. He vaguely was aware of the voices talking, no,  _shouting like banshees_ at each other

Guilt.

Pain.

Angels in the sky with diamonds.

Guilt.

The local bar.

Drinking half of the local bar.

Getting arrested.

Every single thing about this night was fan-fucking-tastic. And who in Lucifer's sweet name could he contact for his one phone call?

* * *

Cas was far too inebriated to protest getting dragged away. Greg had made a pass at him, and the fallen angel had slugged him in the face.

"Could have just told me you don't bat for the other team, man," the guy had said.

"I do not understand that reference," Cas had replied curtly.

And he had proceeded to beat the crap out of the poor guy until there were sirens, taking out all of his anger and frustration on some hapless young man who happened to find him attractive.

He was so out of it, he didn't bother to feel or observe anything as he was arrested and read his Miranda rights. He was aware of a throbbing in his temple, and he could taste his own blood in his mouth. Then, he was in a car with funny-looking windows and it was nothing at all like being in the backseat of the Impala. It was alienating and odd to be dragged around like he had been while in the garrison, but by humans and not God or the archangels.

Cas was close to passing out by the time the squad car reached the station. He was faintly aware of being dragged some more and thrown into a little room with a couple of filthy mattresses and some guy who desperately needed a shave.

"Castiel?" The man who needed a shave was speaking. Cas grunted. He tried to remember whether it was weird by human standards to have some random guy know your name.

"How you know my name?" Cas slurred, lying down on one of the mattresses.

"Castiel, it's me, Crowley."

_Crowley. Bad. That name is bad. No Crowley, no, not here. Wait, why is Crowley bad? Is it bad that he's here? Where's Dean?_


	4. Chapter 4

_Being human is absolutely revolting_ , Cas thought as he vomited into the small metal toilet.  _I never had to be sick before._

"Somebody has gotten alcohol poisoning," Crowley muttered behind him. "Want me to hold back your hair?"

"I do not understand," Cas mumbled drily during a breif pause in his retching.

"Just hold tight, sugar muffin, it will be over soon," Crowley drawled.

"Why are you using terms of endearment with me?" Cas slurred.

"Because we're humans now," Crowley said. "We're on the same boat, you and I, but you got more getting-used-to than I do and I have a metric shit ton of guilt."

"I have my fair share of that as well." Cas attempted to stand up, but swayed. He began to fall, but Crowley grabbed him by the shoulders and sat him down on the bed.

"I killed thousands."

"Me too."

"I wrecked Hell."

"It's Hell, it's supposed to be wrecked. I wrecked Heaven."

"Ah, yes, that does seem a little... oxymoronic."

"'M not a moron," Cas slurred.

* * *

"Hello, this is Dean," said the elder Winchester brother, answering his cell phone.

"Dean, darling, how lovely to speak to you. Is your refrigerator running? Just thought I should ask," said the familiar voice. Dean swore and hung up.

"Who was that?" Sam rasped.

"Just the king of Hell. Same old, same old."

The phone rang again.

"Dean, before you hang up- I have Castiel."

Dean let a string of curses rush forth.

"Crowley, if you even touch him, I  _swear_  I will kill you a thousand times over." Sam raised an eyebrow. Cas, Dean mouthed.

"Calm down, honey bunches. I'm not going to hurt him. We- he- I need your help."

"Help," Dean repeated incredulously.

"Yes, sugar. We got ourselves in a bit of a pinch."

"What do you mean 'we'? Is Cas really there? Can I talk to him?"

"Lover-boy, he's passd out on the floor right now."

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?" Dean thundered.

"Nothing. Jesus, over-protective much? Lover-boy?"

"Don't- do not  _ever_  call me lover-boy again." Sam snickered. Dean threw his younger brother the death glare.

"We both got charged on a drunk and disorderly and we're in jail."

"Is Cas okay, Crowley?"

"Perfect as peaches. He was talking about you."

"Really? What did he say?" Dean felt an odd glimmer of hope at this, but ignored it stubbornly.

"I am certain that he will want to tell you himself."

"Where are you guys?"

"Same town where you locked me up. County jail therein."

"We're on our way."

Dean slammed the phone shut and grabbed his jacket.

"Uh, Dean? Where exactly are we on our way to?" Sam asked indignantly.

"Get your coat, Sammy. We got a lead on Cas."


	5. Chapter 5

Sam had fallen asleep with his head against the window as they drove back to the town where shit, or rather, angels, had gone down. Dean had driven like a cop car was after him and he fad a thousand kilos of drugs in his trunk. Sam had tried to stay awake, tried to find out what was going on as best he could, but there was absolutely no stopping Dean when he was on a rampage.

"Dean," he had said, "I know this whole thing has been hard on you, but I think you have to consider-"

"Consider what, Sammy? That my- my- my- my best friend in- in the fucking universe is- is perhaps lying mojo-less in a ditch somewhere and that Crowley is- is lyin'? It's the only lead I got and I- I sure as Hell won't consider even-"

"Dean, you've never, ever acted like this, for any of our friends."

"Most of our friends can cope with being human for fuck's sake!" Dean had roared.

Now, Sam was slumbering, albeit restlessly, and Dean pulled the Impala into a parking space outside the county jail. He considered waking his brother up, but he was still recovering; and somewhere deep, deep inside of him, a voice said that he didn't want Sam to intrude on his reunion with Cas. It was chilly for the season, and the faintest lavender and rose-colored hints of sun danced at the edge of the trees. It was a beautiful morning, dew on the grass and birds singing in the trees.

Dean wanted to shoot the damn things.

He was tired. His head throbbed in a deep, achy sort of way and he felt too tired to think. As he arrived at the door, he steeled himself.

_This is for Cas, Dean._

_He might be in there and he needs our help._

* * *

"Hi, uh, Officer- Morrison," Dean said as charmingly as possible after an all-nighter, reading the name from the badge on Officer Morrison's chest.

"Are you being tailed by a murderer? 'Cause I'm almost off-duty and I don't feel like-"

"I'm here to bail someone out."

"Ah. Give me a mo'." The cop pushed aside a Dunkin' Donuts box-  _how stereotypical_ , thought Dean- and handed the frazzled hunter a stack of papers. "All right, I'm going to need you to sign here-" Dean signed. "An' here-" Dean scribbled illegibly, remembering that he was dead in the eyes of the authorities. "And on all these lovely little dotted lines." He took a bite of his doughnut, powdered sugar catching in the corners of his mouth, and Dean felt sick.

After he had paid up- not as much as he had expected, but still quite a hefty sum- Officer Morrison led him back through the bowels of the jail, twisty passages that made him feel dizzy and ill but in retrospect must have been nothing but normal corridors. The walls were grey and unfeeling, and Dean fought the unreasonable urge to punch the damn things in their fucking faces. Anxiety was tearing him apart.

_Why was Crowley with Cas?_

_Why couldn't Cas just speak to him?_

_Would Cas try and leave again, like he had said in the phone call?_

Finally, Officer Morrison stopped short and Dean almost ran into him. The bulky man turned and suddenly Dean realized they were in front of a holding cell. Crowley sat on the bed, staring into the first rays of dawn which filtered in through the tiny barred window. And there, lying on the floor, in recovery position, was Castiel.


	6. I'll Buy You A Pony

"Cas?" Dean breathed.

No answer.

Dean pressed a hand to the bars of the cell, grasping the cold metal, desperately searching for signs that Cas was still alive and well. Crowley watched him, head tilted, eyes narrowed, as if calculating what to do next.

"Crowley- if- if you did something to Cas- I swear, I will skin you alive-"

"Dean. Please calm down, he's fine," Crowley begged. His eyes flashed to Officer Morrison, who was watching them warily.

I will deal with you later, Dean mouthed at Crowley. Officer Morrison backed up and cleared his throat.

"Uh, hate to intrude on a touching reunion, but I gotta open this and you are in my way," he said, powdered sugar wagging up and down. Ugh, thought Dean.

"Oh. Um, right. I'll just, uh," he stammered, backing up.

Officer Morrison fumbled with the keys. Dean let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding as Cas let out a weird mewing noise. Crowley chuckled.

Finally, the cell door swung open and Dean almost tripped over himself in his rushed effort to get to Cas.

"Cas?" Dean crouched down next to the humanized angel; subconsciously reaching out a hand to touch his beard. Cas looked like he hadn't shaved in...

Well, whenever the hell it was he last shaved.

_After Purgatory._

Several lifetimes ago.

"He's fine, Dean," Crowley assured. "I grew up in Scotland for Christ's sake; I know about inebriation more than almost anyone."

"Shut your face, Crowley," Dean said gruffly. Turning back to the slumbering Cas, he added, "Cas, man, I need you to wake up now."

"Dah-ling, he is not waking up gently-"

"Cas, sweetheart-" _did I just call him sweetheart?_

_Dean, shut up. It's a term of endearment used when some person you love is sick-_

_I do not love him-_

_Yes, you do, he is your freakin' brother-_

"Winchester. Snap out of it."

"My shift ends in tee minus twenty seconds, so, uh, If you could-" Officer Morrison, complete with revolting doughnut-face, interrupted.

"Cas, if you- if you wake up right now, I will buy you a pony. Every pretty little girl wants a pony, Cas. Hell, I will buy you a fucking dude ranch, man." Dean's mind was in the state of exhaustion-induced delirium. "A dude ranch. And, cause, we are, like, dudes, and we can totally name your first pony Dude if you want to, or we could name it something like-"

"Jesus Christ, Winchester, pull your damn self together!" Crowley stood up, swaying a little bit, and staggered over to where Dean had pulled Cas into his arms.

"Don't you dare touch him, Crowley, or I swear I will-"

"Yeah, yeah, skin me alive and what-not. It kind of dulls the effect of the threat to repeat it so often."

Crowley moved forward and abruptly slapped Cas in the face.

"Wake up, Halo-Boy! Up and at 'em!"

"'M up," Cas mumbled, his eyes shooting awake. "'M up. Lee me lone."

"Cas," Dean grinned uncharacteristically. He felt slightly, well, tipsy.

"Mhe head huuhrt Stean," Cas slurred.

"That is- that is called a hangover, buddy."

After Dean helped pull the power-stripped angel to his feet, they followed Officer Morrison down the labyrinth-like corridors, Dean half-dragging, half-supporting Cas along. As Crowley held the door open for the two young (or improbably old) men, he winked at Officer Morrison.

" _They're loh-vehrs_ ," he whispered, pointing between the two boys.

 _Gross_ , thought Officer Morrison to himself.  _Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even Officer Morrison thinks that they're a couple.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is three FF net chapters combined. I'm on chapter twenty four there.

Cas did not really know what was going on around him. He felt sick, as if there were a thousand Leviathans trying to tickle his stomach, but, being Leviathans, they were not doing so gently. Then, Dean's face came into view above him, and he was being forced to stand up but it was impossible and then someone was helping him and they were warm, so very warm, and he could not bring himself to walk, he just let himself be dragged along by the warm thing, and he wanted to just curl up next to it forever and make his unbearable headache go away.

Then, they were out of the twisty-turny-ness of the hallway and it was too bright out. His eyes stung like they had had lemon juice and salt water poured on them. At one point, someone said something and he said something back and the warm thing deposited him in a car, a familiar car, a car that felt like home; and the warmth was gone. He wanted to cry out and bring it back but then he passed out again and didn't remember the difference.

 

* * *

 

"Dean, you went in there without me?" Sam seethed. He had woken up a few minutes after Dean had entered the police station, and he was pissed off. "Who knows what might have happened if Crowley had lied? You just left me alone here-"

"Sam, shut up and help me get Cas in the back seat," Dean ordered gruffly.

Sam abruptly stopped his rant when he took in the state of the former angel. Cas looked like a cancer patient, gaunt and weak and tired, or, at the very least, like someone locked in a basement for six or eight months.

Dean had not been joking when he had expressed his worry about the Future Castiel's vices; and Sam was scared for him. Scared for Dean, too, because if Cas fell apart after he had just fallen from Heaven, he would take Dean crashing down along with him.

But Sam didn't rush to help Cas, he was still a bit shocked at the harsh appearance of the fallen man.

Crowley helped him instead.

Crowley.

Sam stood numbly by, watching absently as his older brother along with their sworn arch-enemy settled Cas into the seat. Dean covered Cas with a blanket Sam had not been aware that they'd had with them; lurking in the trunk with the sawed-off shotguns and extra ammo. Just tools of the trade.

He recognized the blanket. It was one Dean had taken from a motel room in Pasadena, California, when Sam was ten and Dean almost fifteen. Sam had some sort of sickness, what it was he had long forgotten, but John had taken no notice, dragging the boys from their beds at three in the morning to rush off to Cincinnati, Ohio, three or four days by car. Dean had wrapped his ailing brother in the blanket, as he had just grown out of his latest jacket and was too little to fit into one of Dean's. Sam had spent the next week or two in a stupor, his little body wanting medicine it would never receive. After that, the blanket had stayed hidden in the Impala, coming out only when needed, and eventually retired to the trunk when the boys could steal their own jackets without John noticing. It had always been there, hiding beneath the arsenal, but it had never been wrapped around a non-Winchester.

 _But that was the point, wasn't it?_  Sam thought to himself.  _Cas is your bona fide_ brother _now._

He didn't know if Dean recognized the accidental significance of the moment, but Sam had, and it was bittersweet.

Dean cared a lot about Cas. Sam would never have thought enough to wrap him up, or bail him out at God-knows-when A. M., or...

...curl up beside him and fall asleep with his head in their comrade's lap.

Sam fished the keys out of his brother's jacket, careful not to disturb him as he began to snore, and wordlessly ordered Crowley into the front seat. There were safe places in the bunker where the old King couldn't cause any trouble. He had his brothers, safe-ish; Hell wasn't closed but Boss Man was gone and the angels couldn't bother him for a while.

Time to go home.

 

* * *

 

After about an hour of uneventful driving, Crowley broke the silence.

"Your broh-ther, he cares a laht about that ayhn-gehl lahd," he said tentatively, accent bleeding through quite heavily due to his apparent anxiety.

"What?" Sam blinked. It was raining, and the driving was almost hypnotic in its calmness. The Impala was warm enough for Cas to be comfortable even after he had thrashed out of his blanket, and the endless road lulled Sam into a transient state, so calm he almost forgot about the fact that his enemy was riding shotgun, listening to an iPod.

"Cah-s. He and your broh-ther," Crowley said.

"Yeah. Yeah, they're... close," Sam mused. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he took in the sight of the two people in the backseat. Dean had shifted around to face the cushion, head resting against Castiel's right leg. Cas had swung his legs around underneath him, and the fingers of one of his hands were tangled in Dean's sandy blond hair.

"Careful, love, you're hydroplaning."

"Oh. Uh, right," Sam responded, snapping out of his observations to return his concentration to the road. Crowley pulled his headphones out in disgust.

"I found this damn thing on the side of the road and apparently it belonged to the mutant offspring of Hannah Montana and a sea cucumber. Honestly, this music is God-awful," he muttered. Sam chuckled.

"A sea cucumber, Crowley? Really?" Sam shook his head. "Oh, right. You're hungover too. I forgot."

"Hey. Even a lemon-lime gummy bear could choose better music than this," Crowley said, rolling his eyes.

"What- what kind of music _would_  a lemon-lime gummy bear pick?" Sam laughed, trying to imagine the situation. Hell, in their line of work, he thought, a gummy bear might just have to deal with that difficult scenario.

"I dunno. 'I Want Candy?" Crowley shook his head.

"'Candy Man'?" Sam added, giggling. Everything was just so bizarre. Dean was cuddling with a man, and he and Crowley were joking around about lemon-lime gummy bears and their taste in music. "'Put The Lime In The Coconut?'"

"'Candy Girl'?" Crowley suggested.

"'Candy Girl'?" Sam questioned. "I don't think I know that one."

"Oh, come on! The Archies?" Crowley raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Na na na na, na na, ooh, honey honey, na na na," he sang awkwardly.

"You are m-y-y-y candy gi-i-i-i-i-i-rl!" Sam suddenly remembered. He had liked this song.

"AND YOU'VE GOT ME WANTIN' YOUUUUU!" Crowley joined in and they belted out randomly and the bizarre-ness just felt so good that they kept going until the song ended twice and the Impala needed a gas break.

* * *

"Should we let 'em sleep it off?"

"I guess. They look comfortable."

"Okay."

"Crowley, just a warning, you try to kill us or anything then I will kill you first. Now, can you cook? I'm awful at it, but I'm hungry." Sam thought of something. "A-ha! You can repay us by making us breakfast and stuff. Chef Crowley. Your indentured servitude begins...now."

"I make a wonderful haggis, or at least I did in Scotland."

"Haggis... what's haggis again?"

"Oh, a delicious traditional Scottish meat dish made with all sorts of wonderful delicious-ness."

"Sounds, uh, okay, I guess."

"Awesome. Now, have you got any sheep's brains?"

"Sheep's brains- what?"

* * *

Dean ached.

His neck, his back, his limbs... At least one of his arms and one of his legs were asleep, and his neck, his neck was death. No, death would have felt nicer than this ache.

 _I am getting old_ , Dean realized.  _I have_ got _to start falling asleep in a real bed_.

_Speaking of beds, where am I?_

_Impala?_

_What is that pillow?_

_Is that Cas?_

It was Cas.

_Holy Hell, that's Cas._

Dean sat up, ignoring his aching neck, and foggily tried to remember what had happened. The sun was high above the trees now, outside the Bat-Cave...

The Bat-Cave.

Bed.

"Dean?" The lump of blanket-covered Cas mumbled gruffly.

"Cas."

"My arms are tangled in this cloth."

"Oh." Dean couldn't help but laugh at this admission.

"Can I have some help? Or some painkillers? Or perhaps both?"

Dean inhaled sharply. No way in Hell was Cas getting his hands on painkillers. Not when he was human, and it was so near to twenty fourteen...

"Let's get you to a real bed, and we will see how you feel in the morning," he dodged. Dean yawned and stretched, getting out of the Impala and staggering over to the other side of the car. He opened the door and Cas almost tumbled out onto the leaf-covered earth.

"Ungh," Cas mumbled. "The lack of balance which I find myself coping with recently is... disconcerting." Dean had to to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the gross understatement. Cas was dangling out of the Impala and speaking nonchalantly about the state he was in and it was hilarious.

"Eh he he he. Um, well, we wouldn't want anything disconcerting." Dean, with an almighty effort, managed to maneuver Cas around until he was sitting with his feet on the ground.

"I apologize for my lack of control over my body-"

"Cas, man, you just went through what would be like, for me, losing all of my limbs and most of my internal organs."

"But I still have my organs, internal and external. I do not understand-"

"Cas. Stop talking," Dean ordered.

"Okay."

Dean gently roped an arm around his friend's torso and another under his shoulders. He had never noticed how damn  _thin_  they were...

"I'm going to pick you up now," he warned.

"Okay."

Dean grasped on to the fallen man in what would be, under different circumstances, a bear hug. With a grunt, he pulled Cas out of the car...

...and then he lost his balance and sent them both tumbling to the ground, Dean breaking the other man's fall. Cas was a dead weight against his chest, but he was warm, and he just looked really adorable. His forehead was resting gently on Dean's-

_Adorable?_

Cas looked carefully at Dean, his red-rimed eyes searching for something in the hunter's guarded features. They inhaled and exhaled each other for a minute or two until Dean's chest felt like it was caving in.

"Um, Cas?" Dean managed.

"Dean."

"I kind of need to stand up."

"Oh." With a rather deep grunt of effort, Cas rolled off of the tired hunter. Dean fingered the blanket for a moment, wanting to stay lying down, before nudging himself to his feet.

"Are you okay to stand?" Cas looked wan and sickly on the ground, swaddled in his blanket, all papery skin and tired eyes.

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Are you lying?"

"Yes."

Sighing, Dean propped Cas up and motioned to his back.

"I'm going to give yo a piggy-back ride, okay? Do you know what that is?"

"No," Cas mumbled, looking faintly confused at why Dean was bringing up swine.

"You're going to cling to my back like a baby koala bear," he summed up, silently cursing the fact that he had made it sound so damn _cutesy_.

"Koalas are marsupials. In the stages where they would actually be considered babies, they would be contained in a pouch in their mother's abdomen."

"Okay. Sure, Cas. What I'm saying, man, is that I'm a tree and you're a monkey and you have to cling to me."

"I think I now understand the concept."

It turned out 'understanding the concept' and being physically able to carry out said concept were two wholly different things. Dean needed the patience of one thousand nesting penguins to coax the fallen angel onto his back. Finally, one bloodied lip and an elbowed eye later, Cas was draped over Dean's back. He was surprisingly light. In the way that the Empire State Building might be a tad lighter than the soul-crushing weight one might expect.

"When's the last time you actually ate, man?" Dean wondered aloud.

"I had some peanuts when I got that beer with you at the bar where we found the Cupid."

"That was ages ago, man," Dean exclaimed. "No wonder you're so freakin' weak!"

"I am weak because I am like a human reduced to an amoeba-like state."

"Right. Well, us amoebas got to eat sometime."

Dean shifted his arms so that they were wrapped around his friend's thighs. Cas had his arms wrapped around his chest, loose enough only to allow Dean to breathe. He started to make his way towards the door, and the feeling of dragging a concrete slab through maple syrup lessened a bit as he began moving. Cas nuzzled his face into the crook of Dean's neck, enjoying the warmth against his tired eyes. Dean resisted the overwhelming urge to resettle Cas in his arms like a small child after a long, tiring drive.

"Mmmh," Cas murmured against his will after a moment. Dean's body rocked him gently as he walked and it was comfortable. He was vaguely aware of passing through the door, and inside the bunker, he faintly registered Crowley and Sam making salad, staring at the duo, but it didn't matter.

"Cas," Dean muttered. "We're at your room."

"I have a room?"

"Yeah. I made it for you when all of the angels fe- when I thought you might want it."

In all honesty, Dean had been subconsciously reserving the room for Cas since they had found the bunker, but when the angel became not-angel, he had gone in there and dusted and vacuumed until it was next-to-Godliness clean. He had washed the fluffy white covers and arranged a stack of books he thought Cas might like on the desk.

"Why?" Cas mumbled, his voice muffled by Dean's neck.

"I- I thought you might want to stay here. With us," he answered. "Now, I'm going to set you on the bed, okay, Cas?"

"Mm-kay, Dean."

Dean deposited the heavy lump of Cas on the bed with a thump, and the fallen angel didn't attempt to move; he just laid there stoically at the foot of the bed.

"Um, don't you want to, like, curl up and go to sleep or something?"

"I am curled up."

"I mean, up at the top of the bed where you will not fall off overnight."

"I cannot guarantee that I have the energy required to re-situate myself up at the top of the bed." Cas didn't meet Dean's eyes.

"Here. Climb on again." Dean took Cas in his arms once more so that he could peel back the blankets, albeit with a huge effort not to drop his friend.

"I am going to go get you some soup or something. Stay there."

"I cannot move with enough ease to go elsewhere," Cas muttered dejectedly.

* * *

"Is Cah-s okay?" Crowley asked as Dean joined them in the kitchen.

"He'll live," the hunter replied bluntly.

"I made pumpkin soup," Crowley said, motioning to a pot on the stove. "And there is a chicken Caesar salad in the refrigerator, if you would rather have that-"

"Crowley, what are you doing in my house?"

Crowley opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but with relative aplomb decided to keep quiet for the time being.

"Dean, it's okay."

"Have you forgotten what all he has done to us? What he's done to Cas?"

Crowley looked nauseated.

"Dean, he's-" Sam decided not to go the he-is-totally-different route. "We should keep an eye on him, right? Keep your friends close-" Sam motioned in the general direction of the bedrooms- "and your enemies closer?"

"I can cook," Crowley offered meekly.

"If you're lookin' for an olive branch, man, you gotta look a lot harder than that."

"Dean. We cannot let him go out there on his own. If we cast him out, we will have to deal with the consequences, and besides, he has entered an indentured servitude."

"In- what? Dentures?"

"I'll get a bowl of soup for Cah-s," Crowley muttered.

"Okay. You can stay for now. But you try anything, I will-"

"Skin me alive. Got it, sir."

 

 


	8. Nightmares

Dean arranged a tray for Cas consisting of Crowley's pumpkin soup (which he sneaked a spoon-full of in the hallway; it was ridiculously tasty for one might expect of rabbit food prepared by the ex-King of Hell), tea, water, and buttered white bread with blueberries arranged in a smiley face on top. Sam had wisely decided not to comment on this choice of decoration, but Crowley was bold enough to smile at the hunter's hard-won affection.

The ex-King would never admit it, at least not yet, but he was really, truly, undeniably glad that Cas and Dean were...  _whatever in his former kingdom's name_  they were. He had seen the way that they had acted around each other, and was able to use that to his advantage as a demon. But now, now he was happy that they were able to...co-exist in that weird, not-wholly-platonic manner of theirs.

He had been able to feel some odd, perverse imitation of happiness as a demon, sure, but it was usually something else masquerading as such. Satisfaction at a job well done, exhilaration at a particularly skillful kill, pleasure at maiming and torturing whoever dared to stand between him and what he wanted. But none of any of that could ever hope to compare to the little spark of joy that he felt for Cas and Dean, or the slight flickering ounce of hope that he experienced when Sam defended his presence for some stupid reason.

Still, though, it was unwaveringly drowned out by the immeasurable guilt and sorrow for all that he had done, the lives he had ruined, the pain and terror and lies and manipulation-

_I think I will go make a cake now._

* * *

Dean, unaware of Crowley's gaze trailing after him, padded back to Cas's bedroom, and opened the door softly without knocking.

"Cas? I brought you some food."

"Mhh." Cas looked up weakly, taking in the sight of Dean silhouetted in his doorway.

"You doin' okay?"

"I am experiencing a severe hangover and I have no painkillers in my system. I feel weak and purposeless."

Dean set the tray on the bed-side table, and sat down on the bed next to Cas.

"Cas..." There was not much to be said. "I just want you to know... I want you to know that no matter what species you are, you will always be worth something to me- to us."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas responded, but he didn't look completely reassured. He gazed down at his left hand, very interested in his ragged thumb-nail all of a sudden.

"Try some soup," Dean urged.

"No," Cas whispered.

"Cas, please?"

"No." The fallen angel's pretty blue eyes were becoming glassy, and tears were gathering in the edges.

"Please don't cry, Cas, I- I-"

Cas blinked and an uncomfortably hot tear glided down his cheek. He looked away, ashamed.

"Cas," Dean said. His heart was breaking for the fallen angel. More tears slipped out and he made a quiet choked sobbing noise.

"I am sorry, Dean, I- I..." Cas closed his eyes and hung his head.

"Shhh, it's okay, man, it's okay." Dean hesitated briefly before throwing his arms around Cas in a giant bear hug. Cas leaned into his chest and cried silently. "It's okay." Dean ran his hand through the fallen angel's hair comfortingly, something he hadn't done in years. He had been holding a dying twelve-year-old girl in his arms, singing her to rest. Before he knew about Heaven.

"Dean," Cas muttered into his shoulder.

"Shhh. It's okay. It's okay, Cas, you're okay."

"I- I-"

"You know, Cas, I used to take deaths on the job really, really hard," Dean admitted. "Especially children. I couldn't save them all, and sometimes they would die in my arms." Cas sniffled. "But ever since we got tangled up in the Apocalypse... Now that I know that there is a bona fide Heaven..." Dean rocked Cas back and forth, back and forth. "I feel much better knowing that you were there for them." Dean closed his eyes, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of his friend's hair.

"I used to w-watch you and Sam on your h-hunts," the former angel said, voice muffled by Dean's chest but intelligible. "Do you remember a little girl named Molly Casey?" Cas hiccuped.

"I can't forget her. She was stabbed six times and she just suddenly healed, just like that-" Dean pulled back. "That was you, Cas, wasn't it?"

"She was pure of heart." Cas nodded, a faint smile ghosting over his features.

"That hunt- that hunt was awful. But in the end, little Molly Casey..." Dean smiled. "You're truly amazing, Cas, do you know that?"

"I knew our paths would cross, so I watched out for you," Cas admitted sheepishly.

"Thank you, Cas, really. It means so much to me."

"The old Dean would have sputtered indignantly and said 'that's creepy, Cas'," the fallen angel said, smiling.

"Yeah, well, the old Dean..." Dean smiled. "I don't know where he went."

"It's okay. I like this Dean too," Cas confided.

"Yeah? Well, I like this Cas." Dean ruffled his best friend's hair before turning his attention back to the food. "And I think this new Cas will like new Crowley's soup."

* * *

After spoon-feeding Cas ('Cas, you're like a freakin' garbage disposal or something!' 'I do not understand why you are comparing me to an appliance.') the entire bowl of soup, the bread and the beverages, Dean had helped Cas curl up under the covers.

"Beds are nice. I like beds a lot," Cas murmured. "Can I have some more covers?"

"Beds are good," Dean agreed, putting all of the dishes back on the tray. He walked over to the door and turned off the lights. "I'll be back in a minute with some more covers."

Cas listened to Dean's footsteps and wondered why the hunter bothered helping him.

_I don't have my powers any longer; I can't 'teleport', as he puts it, I can't heal anyone, I can't smite. He shall be rewarded in Heaven for his kindness and generosity. He shall be one of the most lauded men in history, with all of the people he has saved from evil and the good deeds he has done. God will forgive him his lies and stealing, his heart is pure enough to cleanse out Hell and every single demon therein._

_Even Sam, the boy with the demon blood, has redeemed himself thousands of times over. He shall sit upon a throne of laurels alongside his brother._

_Kevin Tran; the reluctant prophet, giving up his dreams in order to fulfill his...unwanted...destiny. He will be written into the Holy Book._

Cas felt warm and comfortable, the blankets chasing away the omnipresent guilt, at least for a while.

_I love these brothers._

* * *

Dean ignored Sam's questions and Crowley's gentle hints as he washed the fallen angel's dishes off.

"Where's Cas sleeping? Is he in your room? Is he doing okay? Does he need any painkillers?"

"Dean, you seem to be growing quite close to that angel."

"Did you find him some clothes? Did he eat the soup?"

"He might like it if you stayed with him."

"Both of you, shut up." Dean grabbed a towel and began to wipe the dishes dry.

"Oh, let me," Crowley interjected, snatching the towel, leaving Dean staring dumbfounded for a minute before he shook his head clear and continued speaking.

"Cas hasn't eaten in like, six days, which, in combination with his massive hangover, made him really weak. He has his own room and I am not sleeping with him. Not now, not ever."

"But he-" Sam snapped his mouth shut, carefully reconsidering his words. "He's probably going to have nightmares, Dean, you should stay with him."

"Yeah," Crowley agreed. "In the cell, he was tossing and turning all night, screaming about silver knives and stuff."

"Really?" Sam asked. "You should definitely stay, then, Dean," he added, nodding. Dean narrowed his eyes.

"He kept asking for you all throughout the night," Crowley said.

"He did?" Dean asked softly, indignation wholly forgotten.

"He likes you a lot, Dean," the ex-demon said.

"No. You know what? I have a perfectly good bedroom. Where I sleep. On my own. Alone. Without Cas. He has survived much worse than a night alone," Dean snapped.

"It was worth a shot," Crowley muttered to his fellow conspirator as Dean retreated down the hallway.

"He'll come around. He's caught up in a masculinity crisis right now," Sam whispered, nodding.

* * *

Dean clenched and un-clenched his fists as he walked away.  _Since when is my brother best friends forever with the King of Hell? And what is with their sudden slumber party gossip session?_

He reached his own bedroom and went inside, making a bee-line for the bed where his own covers lay. There were probably more in a supply closet somewhere, but they were for Cas and therefore had to be worthy.

Dean headed back to his friend's bedroom, tugging an armload of tangled blankets along with him.

He did not notice Sam standing at the end of the hallway, gesturing wildly to Crowley.

Cas was sniffling softly, but he cut it out as soon as Dean entered, clearly wanting to hide his emotions from the hunter.

"I got you some more blankets," Dean said softly.

"Th-Thanks, Dean," Cas responded. Dean left the door open so that he had some light by which to work. He spread the blankets one by one over the already-thick stack of them, covering the fallen angel with at least four inches of fabric before he had depleted his supply.

"Goodnight, Cas," Dean said, walking over to the door.

"Stay," Cas whispered, so quietly that Dean wondered if he was imagining things.

"What?"

"Stay with me. Please, Dean?" Cas paused for a minute. "I don't like having nightmares."

 _You know what?_  Dean thought.  _Screw masculinity. Screw it in its big, ugly face._

He closed the door and returned to Castiel's bed, lying down atop the covers, not entirely ready to crawl under them and wrap his arms around his sleepy friend.

 

* * *

"Stay," Cas whispered against his will.

 _Oh, my father in Heaven, why did I say that? Now he'll think I'm trying to_ court _him. What if he thinks I'm super weird and leaves? I can't take not having him around in this state, I am far too vulnerable. And I'll miss him. Oh, God, what have I done? I_ cannot _lose Dean. Not now. Not ever..._

"What?" Dean asked.

"Stay. With me. Please, Dean? I can't take the nightmares."

Cas held his breath. If Dean left now, their friendship was surely over.

But Dean, instead of opening the door wider and leaving, shut it gently and curled up on the other side of the bed. Cas listened to his breathing, comforted by the rhythmic sounds. The hunter fell asleep within five minutes, still worn out from his erratic sleep schedule and late night.

"Thank you, Dean," he whispered to the sleeping man. "Sleep well."

* * *

Dean awoke sometime around seven in the evening, shivering. He briefly wondered why he hadn't gotten underneath the covers, but decided not to dwell on it. He just peeled back the thick layer of blankets and crawled in between the sheets.

* * *

_Naomi and Cas were standing in a pure, white expanse of a room, gazing down at a glass floor which yielded a perfect bird's-eye view of the bunker. Naomi gestured to a room where Dean slept, clad in a pristine white tunic that would have made Christ himself jealous. He looked immensely peaceful, all traces of worry, usually etched onto his face liked faded initials in a tree, erased._

_"He looks so carefree," Naomi remarked, gazing at the serene hunter._

_"He deserves it," Cas said._

_"You deserve that, Castiel." Naomi looked at him fondly. "You always have."_

_"I deserve nothing," Cas noted softly._

_"You are human. You have made your mistakes and dealt with their consequences thusly. You deserve some happiness."_

_"But I am not a human," Cas muttered._

_"Castiel, can't you see?" Naomi smiled softly. "You were_ always _human in your heart."_

_Cas considered this for a minute, then returned his attention to the sleeping hunter._

_"I do not know what to do, my brother," he admitted to Naomi._

_"Kill him."_

_Cas whisked around, facing Naomi head on. But the other angel had faded away, leaving a large, black cloud in the spot where she had been standing._

_"Kill him, Castiel!"_

_Cas whirled around; the sound seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once._

_"Kill Dean!"_

_"Kill the human!"_

_Thousands of voices were now echoing across the vast room. Below, Dean whimpered in his sleep._

_"Kill Dean Winchester!"_

_The voices continued, surrounding Cas. He clamped his hands over his ears, crouching on the glass floor._

_"Kill him," said one voice, over and over again, rising above the others._

_Metatron's voice._

_"_ No, _" Cas whimpered. The other voices faded out, leaving only Metatron's chant._

_Kill him kill him kill him kill him_

_"_ No, I won't _."_

_Kill him, Castiel._

No. Not Dean. Not Dean. Not Dean. No.

_Cas. Kill him._

Cas.

_Kill him._

_Cas._

"Cas!"

_Suddenly, the white room vanished and he was left in the darkness._

"Cas, wake up!"

_Dean._

"Cas, please. You're scaring the hell out of me."

_"Kill Dean."_

"DEAN!"

"Cas. Please, baby, wake up. Wake up. Wake up. You're having a nightmare. Wake up, please," Dean whimpered.

"Dean," Cas whined.

"It's me. I'm here. It's Dean. It's Dean. Wake up Cas, please," Dean babbled, shaking his fallen friend.

"Dean?"

"Dean. Yes, Cas. It's me. It's Dean," Dean said with shaky, relieved laughter."It's me."

"Dean," Cas said. "Dean."

"You were screaming," Dean said.

"I- I dreamed-" Cas realized he was shaking violently.

"I know. I know, Cas. You were having a nightmare."

Dean pulled Cas into his arms, rocking him back and forth like he used to when Sam, as a child, dreamt of Mary on the ceiling.

"I dreamed that you-" Cas shuddered and his voice broke. "I dreamed that I had to kill you." He began to cry into Dean's chest. Dean cradled his head next to his heart, one hand on the former angel's neck and one around his body. He buried his forehead in Cas's hair, wanting to take the pain away, aching for the fallen man.

"It's okay, Cas. I've got you."

Cas inhaled shakily.

"Promise me."

"I promise, Cas."

Cas wiped his eyes on Dean's tee shirt.

"Sorry," he said softly, pulling away from the hug and settling back into bed, effectively cutting himself off from Dean's embrace.

"Cas, you never have to apologize about your feelings for me."

Dean froze.

Cas froze.

"To me. Your feelings to me," he stammered finally. "You don't have to apologize. About your feelings. To me."

Electric tension sparkled in the air, fueled by Dean's slip-up.

"Um, Freudian slip?" Dean suggested after a while.

"Doesn't a Freudian slip connotate a subconscious desire for the accidental words to be true?"

More silence.

"I think it does."

Cas rolled over to face Dean. The hunter was propped upon one elbow, gazing back at him, anxiety and hopefulness illuminated in his eyes by the light sneaking in through the crack under the door.

Everything was out on the table now; cards they weren't even aware they had been holding now exposed for all to see. They had been skirting around this for years, for  _years_ , and now here they were, looking at each other in the dark and seeing the echoes of hope in each other's faces, faces that they were fluent in reading, the very faces that brought joy with one quick glance even when nothing else could. They were on the brink of a waterfall, dancing in no man's land.

The soldiers had laid down their weapons, stripped themselves of their armor, and they circled each other, each man sizing the other man up without moving a muscle or saying a word.

Dean hadn't even known he had wanted Cas until then. Wanted Cas. Wanted to fall asleep in his arms, to wake up to his smile, to laugh together and to share sidelong glances with him and hold his hand and to never, ever let go for anything.

Cas hadn't known up until know that he was even capable of wanting anything like that. Of wanting Dean.

"And is it true, in this case?" Cas whispered.

"I think it is."


	9. Toast

The first thing Dean was aware of when he woke up the next morning was that he was being snuggled with. Dean didn't snuggle. Ever.

The second thing he became aware of was that he was snuggling with Cas.

Cas. Who was a man. Also a fallen angel and his best friend, but still a man.

Cas mumbled something in his sleep, something that sounded like 'pineapple upside-down cake' but Dean suspected it had nothing to do with pastries in any way, shape, or form.

And the third: his best friend's dick was digging into his leg.

That got Dean out of bed, and fast. He stood up, panicking slightly- okay, panicking slightly more than slightly- and backed away from the bed. Cas stirred, sleep disturbed by the sudden movement, and rolled over, curling up in a tight little ball.

Dean began breathing fast and shallow, mind racing.  _Cas. Man. Bed. Feelings. Man. Cas. Man._  He knew that last night's tentative conversations, with its hints and metaphors, would not go forgotten. And he didn't even know if he wanted Cas to forget, that was the real thing.

_I can't like Cas. Not like that. He is a man. A man. I am not gay. I am the straightest straight heterosexual straight guy to ever roam the Earth. But it's Cas and I like him. Maybe even love him but I am straight oh my god._

Dean bolted from the room, accidentally leaving the door open on his way out, pushing past Sam, who was going back to his own room. His brother stared at him, bewildered, before sagely deciding to let Dean freak out by himself.

Dean barely made it to his own bed, hyperventilating and attempting in vain to shut down his thoughts. He was not homophobic; he never had been homophobic. He had thought gay people were weird as a teenager, but that was probably a remnant of his father's general disdain for those who weren't straight. I wonder why that was, Dean wondered briefly before his mind turned back to panic. He knew that he was straight had always known, but now... Now here he was, down the hall from another man whose feelings were him were not exactly platonic, and his own were probably even less platonic.

_It really screws with your head to have your sexuality come crashing down through the roof in one night._

Dean ran his hand through his hair. He was confused, scared, panicked, and possibly gay...

* * *

"Dean?" Sam's voice came from the hallway, accompanied by a gentle knock. "Are you okay?"

"No. Go away," Dean shouted stubbornly.

"Dean..."

"I said go away, Sammy."

"No, Dean, I am not just going to walk away after watching you have a panic attack in the hallway."

Dean didn't answer.

Sam sighed, irritated at his older brother's childishness, but he was worried about the poor guy. He debated whether or not getting skinned alive was worth the risk, and opened the door.

_Screw it._

"Dean..." His brother was sitting on the floor, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth, back hitting the end of the bed with every movement. Sam, with some difficulty, as he was still recovering from almost dying, sat down next to him.

"I thought I told you to leave me alone," Dean muttered, voice muffled.

"No way in hell, Dean. Talk."

Dean mumbled something about feelings being stupid bitches. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Dean. Are you going to talk or am I going to have to sic a P. M. S.-ing Wendigo on you?"

"I'll take the Wendigo," Dean grumbled.

"Of course you will."

"You can kill a Wendigo," Dean continued.

"Dean. I saw you go in to Cas's room last night and I saw you come out this morning," Sam said bluntly.

"I could be wrong, but I believe that is none of your damn beeswax," Dean said, poking his head up to glare at his little brother.

"I care about you, Dean. Masculinity crisis or no, I don't like to see you upset. Especially over something that can be fixed."

"Who says I'm having a masculinity crisis?" Dean asked, glaring. "I am perfectly fine. Peachy." He climbed up on top of the bed, pulling the one remaining sheet over his body and feigning sleep, snoring obnoxiously loudly.

"Dean, don't make me sit on you," Sam said. Dean shoved his face into a pillow and made an obscene gesture towards his brother. He moved up next to Dean, sitting against the head of the bed, ignoring his screaming muscles. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I think I might like Cas."

Sam bit down a you think, smart-ass?

"Okay? Is that a bad thing?"

"Cas is a guy," Dean mumbled.

"Get the damn pillow out of your face and talk to me." Sam easily wrestled the pillow away from his brother, despite his aching limbs. "You don't want to admit that you are kind of completely in love with Castiel, former angel of the Lord, not because of his former rank as celestial bad-ass but because he is residing in a man."

"If you know all this, why don't you leave me alone?" Dean pouted.

"So it's true-ue!" Sam said in a gentle sing-song.

"Shut your damn moose face, Sammy."

"Paraphrasing Crowley. Real mature," Sam said, grinning. Dean harrumphed and rolled over, finding the wall very interesting.

"Go away."

"Dean-"

"I am not gay."

_Oh, so that's what this is about. Dean still thinks he is straight. Wrong._

"Dean. Do you like Cas?"

"He's my best friend."

"Okay. And you have romantic feelings towards him?" Sam coaxed.

"No. Maybe. Yes," Dean admitted.

"And if he had happened to inhabit a girl's body, you would have gotten with him years ago?"

"Probably," Dean grumbled.

"And he likes you?"

"I think."

Sam counted to ten in order to prevent himself from grabbing his brother and locking him in Cas's room.

"Okay, so it's mutual."

"I think." Dean took a deep breath.

"Are you nervous because he's a man, or because you don't want to lose him?"

Silence.

"A little of both," Dean finally admitted.

"Dean, you are denying yourself one of the few things that you've ever had that might make you happy. Grow a pair, stop moping, and ask him out. Here's your pillow back." Sam, as gently as possible, slammed the pillow across his brother's head and sauntered triumphantly out to breakfast.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, his phone rang shrilly.

"Hi, this is Sam," he said into the phone.

"Sam? It's Charlie."

"Charlie? Is everything okay?"

"Are you guys okay? All those weird lights and Dean not answering his phone, I thought that maybe you guys had another one of your really big things."

"Yeah. Really big things is one way of putting it. But we're mostly okay. Well, when I say mostly okay, I mean that I almost died, the King of Hell is making us French toast, my prophet is nowhere to be found, and Dean is still trying to pretend-"

"Wait, you said prophet?" Charlie interrupted.

"Yeah, why-"

"Little Asian guy, about as tall and friendly as a garden troll?"

"That sounds like Kevin."

"He's asleep on my couch," Charlie said.

"What? Oh my gosh, is he okay?" Crowley, having heard the word Kevin, stood awkwardly, spatula askew and French toast sizzling.

"Apart from a seizure or two and a hospitalization, which was actually not expensive, thanks to Obama-care, he's fine."

"Damn."

"Yeah. Is this what you guys do to all of your friends?"

"Honestly, yes."

"Well, I'm heading to the bunker, because when he found me, I was minding my own business in Moondor when he just showed up and started rambling about how I had to get there because something about the Winchesters needing all of their family together and somehow that includes me."

"Um. Okay. Bring Kevin too."

"Of course, you dummy."

After exchanging good-byes, Sam hung up.

"Keh-ev?" Crowley asked nervously.

"Yeah. Kev."

"Well, shit. I better get my medical insurance sorted out."

"Apparently Obama-care's doing a pretty good job."

"Uh."

"Um, Crowley? Your toast is burning."

"I'm toast, Sammy."

 

* * *

 

Cas turned on the T. V. at some point during the early afternoon, just after lunch (quiche a la Crowley). He didn't seem able to grasp the concept of the remote control, and watched whatever channel had been left on previously: Animal Planet, as Kevin had liked to have the animals in the background as he worked. It soothed him.

Playing was a documentary about fishes of the coral reefs. Cas stared, transfixed by the shimmery colors and beautiful images. The narrator was talking about how the individual fishes acted like one united fish as they swam in schools.

_Just like the angels._

A large shark lurked a couple of yards behind the fish. Cas watched as the fishes swam on, oblivious. Finally, the shark lunged and bit, snaring five of the fishes in its punishing jaws.

Cas cried out, fear coursing through his body for the little fish, crushed in the teeth of an enemy far beyond their capabilities.

 

* * *

"Honey, I'm ho-o-me!" Charlie announced upon entering the Men of Letters compound. It was largely deserted, Sam and Cas both napping in their respective rooms, Dean reading a cheesy novel left in the supermarket by a middle-aged woman. (He was enjoying it much more than he would have liked to admit- why didn't Sebastian just choose Claire? Victoria was a stupid little bitch. And why did Phillip have to be so petty?) Crowley was cooking, as per usual, preferring to think about sauteed vegetables from Trader Joe's than sauteed humans from Hell.

Crowley looked at her, tentatively. "Chah-lie?" Sam and Dean had told him that she was coming over with Kevin, but he had never met the fair queen of Moondoor.

"Dean? Who is the Scottish guy?" Charlie shouted.

The hunter looked up, still totally absorbed in the novel; wondering whether Sebastian would choose Vicky or Claire, and where the hell Philip went.

"Oh, very good," Crowley said. "Most people just assume I'm British 'cos of the accent."

"I watch a lot of British shows. You know, Sherlock, Downton Abbey, Doctor Who, Torchwood, the whole nine yards."

"Charlie, Crowley, Crowley, Charlie," Dean shouted, and then returned to the trials and tribulations of Sebastian Du Lac.

"What the  _actual_  fuck is  _he_  doing here?" Kevin had slipped in quietly, and was now staring daggers at Crowley, seething. His eyes were narrowed to slits.

"Who killed his mother?" Charlie muttered under her breath.

"Um. Me, actually," Crowley mumbled. Charlie stared, shocked.

Kevin, once he regained the ability to move, was up in the kitchen with demon-like speed.

"What the FUCK are you doing here?" Kevin slammed his fist into Crowley's nose, relishing the sickening crunch as the cartilage broke under his knuckles. Charlie gasped, and put a hand over her mouth. Kevin had seemed so mellow... but then, seizures tend to curb malicious intent. "You-" Kevin punctuated each word with a punch. "YOU-" whap- "KILLED. MY. MOTHER. YOU. BASTARD!"

By this time, Crowley's nose was gushing blood, and his lower lip was split. He closed his eyes, savoring the punishment, glad he could finally find a physical sensation somewhat close to his emotional one.

"Fight BACK, you fucking-"

"Kevin!" Charlie shouted. Dean, who had come bursting in, held her back.

"He needs this. He'll stop before he kills him," he muttered to her, willing her to understand.

Kevin grabbed a fistful of Crowley's hair, and slammed his face into his knee. Dean flinched but kept himself from tearing between the two. God only knew what he had wanted to do to the bastard for himself, for Sammy, for Sarah, for Mrs. Tran, for Kevin's girlfriend (whatever her name was), for Samandriel and Ellen and Jo and...

"FIGHT-" slam. "BACK!"

Crowley collapsed on the ground, and Kevin started kicking him in the chest.

"I will murder you," he growled in a low voice. He pinned Crowley's neck under one leg. "I will end you. Do you understand? Not now, not today. But you better watch your _fucking back_ , because I am going to _skin_  you alive, boil, stab, and then shoot you." He released Crowley's neck.

Crowley coughed, a string of bloodied saliva falling from his lips.

"Consider yourself warned," Kevin said, massaging his reddened knuckles and smiling slightly.

"Well, shit," Charlie said, shell-shocked. Kevin chuckled chillingly, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and stalked off to the bedroom he had claimed previously.

Dean was too stunned to point out that Kevin was too young to drink. For a reason that he wouldn't remember later, he gave Crowley a hand up and pointed him in the direction of the medical ward.

Charlie looked at him, a little wide eyed, and he shrugged.

"He killed Kevin's mom," he offered by way of explanation.

* * *

Dinner was  _awkward_. Cas, after having woken up from his nap, assisted Crowley in dressing his wounds. Kevin had given him three cracked ribs, a busted jaw, a missing tooth, a black eye, and a busted lip, for starters. Cas wasn't talking, and Dean recognized the mourning in his eyes.

_He misses healing._

Crowley, on the other hand, seemed much calmer after his beating, not showing any signs of pain other than a little whimper here and there when a rib twinged.

Dean caught Charlie up as they made dinner; from the angels falling to Kevin's mother and girlfriend, from Naomi to Metatron, from the trials to the tablets. Crowley was in no condition to cook, so Dean and Charlie created a menagerie of sandwiches. Charlie, it seemed, had a remarkable talent at guessing people's favorites: salmon on pumpernickel for Kevin, a Reuben for Dean, turkey on wheat for Sam, corned beef on rye for Crowley, egg salad on white bread for Cas (how she guessed that one Dean would never know) and tuna salad with capers on white for herself.

Dean and Sam sat at the head and foot of the table. Cas immediately claimed the seat to Dean's right, feeling alienated in a room full of people. Charlie sat next to Sam, eager to catch up with him. He was rather ill last time she had seen him.

"You're looking a lot less sallow," she had teased fondly.

Crowley didn't seem to want to join him, but at the fallen angel's bequest, sat down awkwardly next to Charlie. Kevin grabbed a six pack of beer from the fridge, silently challenging anyone to object. Cas and Sam had heard of the fight earlier, and tacitly decided not to rub him the wrong way.

"Dude's a freakin' ninja, Sammy," Dean had related.

Now, Charlie was making small talk with Sam. Kevin had finished his beer and surreptitiously snagged the one everybody knew Cas would never drink. Crowley and Charlie chatted about England, and Sam ate three sandwiches.

Dean ate about half of his before realizing that Cas had stopped after three bites. He suspected his friend had only gotten that far to spare his feelings. Now, he stared at the wall behind Crowley's head, tuning out all conversation and making no attempt to eat. Dean remembered having read at some point that dilated pupils were a sign of a depressive state, and it seemed to be happening to Cas right then.

"Cas?" he asked softly.

Cas was so tuned out, he didn't even hear Dean, much less acknowledge that he was being spoken to.

"Cas, are you okay?"

Cas looked balefully at his sandwich and things instantly clicked.

"Cas, you don't have to eat the sandwich if you don't want."

Still no response.

"Cas," Dean murmured, placing a hand gently on the fallen angel's shoulder. Cas started and flinched, looking around wildly for a moment before realizing where he was.

"Dean?" Cas breathed, deer-caught-in-the-headlights look down to a T.

"Cas, why don't we get you back to bed, and you can try eating more later," Dean suggested softly. By know, all conversation around them had ceased, but neither man noticed.

"Mm-hmm," Cas said noncommittally, but allowed himself to be guided gently down the hall.

"So, what's the deal with those two?" Charlie asked quietly once the pair of men had retreated.

"Cas and Dean are... close," Sam summarized.

"I don't know if they know it yet, but I think that they complete each other. Sort of like Bonnie and Clyde, or Batman and Robin on a good day."

"Robin's a wimp," Charlie added helpfully.

"Yeah, but then again, so is Dean," Sam pointed out, snorting.

"Anyhow, I ship it," Charlie said, forgoing the beer and pouring herself some orange juice.

"Ship?" Crowley and Sam questioned simultaneously.

"Means she..." Kevin gesticulated sloppily. "Means she likes them as a pairing."

"Like Spirk," Charlie said, nodding, then rolled her eyes as she realized they still didn't have a clue what she was getting at.

"Spock and Kirk," Kevin clarified. "From Star Trek."

"Ah. 'Slash fans', right?" Sam said. The whole Sam-slash-Dean thing was much funnier after his beer and Crowley's beer.

"Hey, don't hate on the yaoi. 'S good stuff," Charlie said around a mouthful of salad.

"I'm sorry, I don't know who Spock and Kirk are," Crowley muttered sheepishly. Three sets of eyes turned to stare at him.

"Dude, you know Batman and Robin but not Spork and Cock?" Sam sputtered. Kevin giggled in a manly fashion at his slip-up.

"I like Firefly better," Crowley admitted. Charlie gasped.

"Oh my god, Firefly is like the best! Well, so is Star Trek. They are both best. Nathan Fillion is great. I met him once. He is built," she gushed. "You really haven't seen Star Trek? Oh my god, this is perfect. Tomorrow, all of us are going to see Into Darkness. You guys need some fun and a lesson on shipping," she babbled. "You said you saw Sherlock, right? The guy who played him, Bene-something-complicated-and-long, he's the villain."

"Okay," Crowley said, looking a bit overwhelmed.

"I kind of wanted to see it," Sam admitted. "I liked the two thousand and nine one."

"Same cast, same director, but there's a bona fide villain in this one, so I think it will be better. Plus, Sherlock-guy is eye candy. I sort of wish I was straight so I could worship his cheekbones."

"You're gay?" Crowley asked absently.

"Yeah. And let me tell you, my gay-dar was going haywire when Cas walked in."

"Makes sense," Kevin said. "Those two."

"Has he got any clothes? He doesn't strike me as a denim jacket type of guy," Charlie guessed.

"He's more the... suits twenty-four-seven type of lad," Crowley said.

"I think he's been wearing Dean's clothes," Sam mentioned.

"They are so gay," Kevin said, rolling his eyes.

"He needs new clothes. So, tomorrow we are going to a movie, buying Cas some clothing, maybe you too, Crowley. You're human now, right? And then the four of us can clear out, perhaps leaving those two in a totally romantic setting while we grab some Chinese food."

"We can leave them in an adult novelty video store," Crowley suggested jokingly.

"No, I already considered that, but Cas would have all sorts of awkward questions and Dean would crucify me."

"I love how you _actually considered_  that," Sam said.

"So, we can make them eat tons of popcorn, like, so they aren't hungry, and then we can grab a pizza or whatever and point them towards a local park," Kevin contributed.

"Sounds like a plan," Sam said, raising his depleted beer. "To Dean and Cas."

"To Dean and Cas!"

"To Dean and Cas!"

"To Cas and Dean!"

"KEVIN!"

"Uh, to Dean and Cas!"


	10. Spork And Cock

Dean snaked an arm around Cas's back, and the newly human angel slumped into him as if he didn't have the energy to walk. He shuffled his feet along slowly, his eyes closed, and cried softly to himself. Dean was tempted to bring Cas into his bedroom, as it was closest, but he resisted, telling himself that he was not going to spend the night with the former angel.

They finally arrived at Cas's room, and Dean all but carried him to the bed. He sat down next to his friend, arm still around his shoulders. Cas cried silently, and Dean held him so tightly that he felt his arms get tired.

Finally, the former angel sniffled pitifully and pulled away, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of Dean's ragged denim jacket. He took a shuddering breath and began to speak.

"Sorry, Dean," he mumbled. "I just- I saw the food, and I..." he trailed off. "I never needed to eat before, and the fact that it tasted so good meant that I had fallen to the point where I actually have preferences of foods-" he babbled.

"Whoah, whoah, slow down, Cas. You're fine. You don't have to apologize, we went over that last night."

"Sorry, Dean," the angel muttered again. He realized what he had just said and moved to apologize yet again, for apologizing, but Dean brushed his thumb across the angel's perpetually chapped lips. Cas's eyes grew wide and he looked around, not sure what to do. Dean dropped his hand once he was aware that he had just touched Cas. On the lips.

"How can I get you to eat?" Dean asked after a while. "It's breaking me apart to watch you weaken yourself like this." He searched Cas's face for any sign of hunger or willingness to comply.

"I worry you. I apologize." He clapped a hand over his mouth, and Dean smiled despite himself.

"You're adorable," he blurted. Then it was his turn to cover his mouth.

"No more apologies," Cas said.

"Show me that you're sorry by fixing it," Dean suggested. "Can I buy you some coffee? Or a cheeseburger? You liked those things, didn't you? I need to... I need you to... I need to see you eat." He grabbed Cas's hand desperately.

"I could try some pie," he suggested shyly. The corner of Dean's lips rose in a lopsided grin.

"You still haven't had pie, have you?" He asked. "You are in for a treat."

"I want to try it. I just... I don't want to disappoint you," the fallen man added in a whisper.

"You won't. You won't ever disappoint me," Dean assured him. "It just hurts to see you so sad."

They were so close to each other's faces that each could feel the other's breath. Cas's pupils were heavily dilated again, and his mouth was opened slightly. He stared at Dean's mouth, then back up at his eyes, searching for any sign of approval...

Dean's heart was beating fast, uncomfortably fast, and he was acutely aware that he was still holding Cas's hand in his.

Cas cleared his throat and looked away, embarrassed. Dean realized that the fallen angel had started to cry again.

"I'm kind of tired," he said carefully, blinking rapidly, wiping away his tears before Dean could notice them.

"Let's get you in bed then," Dean said soothingly. He took his jacket off of Cas, pulled back the covers, and gently guided the former angel underneath. He brushed his hair out of his forehead, kissed his cheek, and retreated before he even had a chance to realize what that might mean.

* * *

Back in his own room, Dean slammed his fist in to the wall, over and over again, cursing anyone and anything that had done this to Cas.

_Made him so-_

Slam.

_Fragile._

Slam.

_Tore him apart._

Slam.

_Hurt him so badly._

Slam.

_Fucking Metatron._

Slam.

_Fucking Naomi._

Slam.

_Fucking assholes._

Slam.

_Bastards._

Slam.

_If they even touch my Cas-_

Slam.

_My Cas?_

Dean stopped, the pain rushing to his fist all at once.

 _Since when did Cas become_ my _Cas?_

Dean ran his swollen hand under cold water, hoping to God that nobody heard his one-way fist-fight with the wall. Finally, the throbbing subsided, and he wrapped it in an ace wrap before collapsing on top of his bed.

* * *

Dean laid awake for hours, tossing and turning, mind racing.

 _I kissed Cas. I kissed Cas. Castiel, my best friend, my guardian angel. My Cas. I called him_ my Cas _and I kissed him._

Finally, after hours, he realized something. Staring at the clock (three oh nine), wondering why he couldn't sleep, it hit him.

_I love him._

_I love him, and that is a_ good _thing._

At this point, his eyes felt dry and his head ached from tiredness. But he smiled to the dark room nonetheless, because he loved Cas.

_Like a brother, like a friend, like a partner._

He stood up, grabbed his blankets, and made his way down the hall. Cas was lying on his stomach, one arm underneath him and the other next to his face on the pillow. Dean pushed down the frightening, dangerous waterfall of feelings that cascaded in his chest and spread out his covers over top of Cas's. He crawled underneath them, and watched Cas breathe as he slept, his eyes moving back and forth in his dream.

"I love you," he told the sleeping man.

Cas didn't wake up, but after about a half an hour he gravitated towards his sleeping hunter and wrapped his arms around the man, still fully asleep.

The next morning, Dean woke up with his head nuzzled into the fallen angel's neck, his chest swollen at the intoxicating, musky smell and the comforting embrace. Cas mumbled something into Dean's hair while he slept, and it sounded suspiciously like Enochian.

Dean didn't run. He panicked slightly, but he didn't run.

Instead, he let the rise and fall of his angel's chest lull him back to sleep.

It was scary as Hell, letting down his guard like this, but for now he didn't care. Cas was warm, and he stayed.

He stayed, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Charlie was up by eight in the morning, looking up local showtimes and lunch specials and department stores on her laptop at the kitchen table. She wired a couple thousand dollars into her favorite debit card, thanks to a high-level business executive who had been so drunk while flirting with her that he practically was asking to be pick-pocketed.

"Thanks, old creep," she said as the transaction went through.

"Hey. I'm not that old," Sam said from behind her. Charlie jumped.

"Oh my god, Sam, you scared me!" She chuckled. "I was talking about-" she scrutinized the screen- "Charles Forsythe Worthington the third, of Romulus Enterprises. He was an old creep."

"Ah."

"So, he's buying Castiel's new clothes. And, what the hell, Crowley's, too. Ah, whatever. New clothes for everyone!" She decided.

"I'm down to three pairs of jeans that aren't bloodstained," Sam admitted sheepishly.

"God. Didn't anyone teach you how to use a tampon?" Charlie joked.

"Um. What?" Kevin joined them, looking warily between the two.

"Kevin! Good morning," Charlie said chirpily.

"Anyone see my brother?" Sam asked. He pulled out a huge, Costco industrial-size bag of cereal and a stack of bowls. "I made breakfast," he joked.

"Not since he ran off with Castiel last night," Kevin said.

"Oh. His door was open and he wasn't in bed, so I thought maybe he'd gone out."

"Or he just never left Castiel's room," Charlie said with an eyebrow wiggle.

"Nah, we would have heard it if that had happened," Crowley said, making them all jump. He grabbed a bowl and poured some cereal.

"Um. Ew," Kevin said.

"That's- that is _really_ \- I did  _not_  need to think about that," Sam sputtered.

"It's totally canon," Charlie said.

She was met with blank stares.

"Um. Fandom-speech, sorry. Okay, so there's an eleven twenty-five showing of Star Trek Into Darkness about forty miles from here. Then we can hit the mall, or if Dean is being his usual stubborn self, we can take him to a Target."

"Maybe that would be the better act of valor," Sam agreed. "Target generally has less stimuli, and Cas is sort of... adjusting. Plus, we could get him practically everything there."

"I just can't do the noisy malls anymore," Kevin pointed out. "My seizure threshold has been dramatically lowered since the man upstairs chose me as his interpreter."

"Have you thought about getting yourself some Topiramate?" Crowley asked.

"Topa- what now?" Kevin said, head tilting sideways.

"Seizure preventative medication," the ex-demon informed him. Sam raised an eyebrow. "What? I read a lot," he defended, shrugging.

* * *

Cas woke up to find Dean buried in his arms. For once, the guilt was bearable and the pain, physical and psychological, had dissipated. However, there was a deep burning in his abdomen that he assumed was hunger. He stood up slowly, kissed the hunter softly on his forehead, and went to go get some breakfast.

 

* * *

 

 

Charlie was volunteered for the task of explaining the Star Trek characters and important plot devices to all who didn't know on the drive over. She took Cas and Crowley in her car, ignoring the lingering, mournful looks Dean sent in the fallen angel's direction. Sam and Dean chatted with Kevin, who Sam graciously allowed shotgun. Charlie gave a synopsis of the 2009 Star Trek, and did such a flawless job that even Cas comprehended it without any further questions.

"But I do not understand. If Spock and Kirk are so clearly made for one another, then why does Spock continue to court Lieutenant Uhura?" Okay, one further question.

"I don't think that they are aware of their feelings," Charlie explained. "Kirk would probably have to go through an existential crisis beforehand."

"Remind you of anyone?" Crowley asked. Charlie giggled.

"No," Cas answered.  _Not since the other night._

* * *

The movie was brilliant. Charlie and Kevin sat next to each other, eagerly whispering about the plot. The theater was mostly deserted, so Crowley (on Charlie's other side) didn't bother to smack them in the backs of their heads. Sam felt truly relaxed for the first time in ages. The world was ending and it was not his problem; Spock and Kirk had it all taken care of.

Well, mostly all taken care of.

Dean, as planned, had ended up with the giant tub of popcorn sitting between him and Cas.

"Cas, come on, it's really, really good. I promise I won't make you eat any more if you don't like it, but just try some," he had urged, covering the bucket with the artificial butter stuff from the lobby.

"I guess I could attempt to consume some," the former angel had replied stiffly.

Dean watched eagerly as Cas carefully chose two perfect, golden, puffy kernels of popcorn and brought them to his lips. He chewed slowly, thoughtfully.

"I enjoy the flavor," he had said finally, and Charlie gave Sam a fist bump. "It tastes like the embodiment of sunshine," he concluded, causing a smile from Crowley, who eagerly concurred. Dean had been so pleased that he had gone back to the concession stand and bought himself a king-sized Fanta slushie, which he fully planned to give to Cas.

Now, they were nearing the climax of the movie. Cas liked the dialogue and the characters, but the explosions were a bit too loud for him, and he clenched his hands into fists. He cried when Khan related his tale to Kirk, laughed at all the wrong moments, and ate popcorn.

Now was the final betrayal, and Cas dug his nails into his palms. So much of the story reminded him of things he had gone through, and he enjoyed the fact that it was all fake. The three-D cinema astounded him. Things flew out of the movie at the audience, and he loved every second of it. Except maybe the explosions and the deaths of innocent civillians.

Dean found himself watching Cas, nervous to see how his friend would take it. From the very beginning, the fallen angel had been rapt with attention, whisked away by the beautiful aesthetics. He felt warm and comforted by the wonder on Cas's face, and it was all he could ask for to see him smiling and content.

 _I love his smile,_  Dean realized.  _I love the way his head tilts when he is confused, and he narrows his eyes, trying to understand. I love his messy hair and the way my clothes are too big on him and-_

"Yo, Dean, the movie's over." Sam's voice snapped him out of his reverie. He was gracious enough not to smirk at Dean's dopey expression.

"Ah. Yes. Of course. I was, uh, making sure Cas liked it," he managed to sputter out after a bit.

"I found the story enthralling, the visual concepts beautiful, and the explosions frightening," Cas reviewed. He was still wearing his three-D glasses, and they rested crookedly on his nose. Dean realized with triumph that the two of them had eaten the full bucket of popcorn and that Cas had indeed usurped his slushie.

"I'm glad you liked it," Dean said genuinely. Sam had to bite down on his lip to keep from grinning stupidly at his brother and future-brother-in-law. Charlie elbowed Kevin.

"I am hungry," Kevin announced. Charlie agreed loudly.

"If only Cas and Dean hadn't eaten all the popcorn," she lamented sadly.

"I apologize, I had absolutely no intention of keeping the snack food to myself I will- Ow, Dean!"

"No apologizing. We talked about that last night," Dean reminded him.

"I apo- I mean, It was delicious," the fallen man quickly corrected.

"Better," Dean said. Cas smiled.

"You two are exactly like Spock and Kirk," Sam said.

"Dean, you are so totally Kirk," Charlie said. "You've got that whole...hero thing going on. Plus, tight shirts suit you," she added nonchalantly. Crowley shook his head, amused.

"That would, in turn, make me the metaphorical equivalent of Mister Spock," Cas said.

"He even talks like him," Crowley agreed. "You're like a socially inept alien man turned best friend slash co-conspirator to Kirk."

"That makes Sam Bones," Dean said. "He's a dork."

"Hey. McCoy is a genius," Sam defended. "So I am obviously him."

"I think I am Scotty," Charlie deduced. "We're both brilliant, short gingers who are good with technology and good at villains."

"Kevin is Chekov," Cas said, nodding, clearly proud that he was able to join in on the metaphor.

"I am strangely okay with that," Kevin said. "Chekov saves the day."

"Every single one of the aforementioned characters does just that," Crowley added. "But I think you're more of a Hikaru Sulu."

"Is that because I'm an Asian?" Kevin asked, mock-indignantly. "'Cause I am super offended right now."

"No, it's because you're generally bad-ass and I would hate to piss you off," Dean said. Kevin's ears turned red, and he ducked his head at the praise.

They had made their way out of the theater. Crowley cringed at the bright daylight.

"I feel like a bloody vampire," he grumbled.

"Ah, yes, the post-movie theater brightness," Sam sympathized.

"It is very unpleasant," Cas commented. He was still wearing his glasses.

"Man, you have to take the glasses off after the movie ends," Dean said, but he was grinning at the fallen angel's endearing naivety. Before he could stop himself, he reached forwards and gently removed his glasses.

"I am now experiencing the affects of the sudden change in lighting," Cas said, squinting. Dean smiled and clapped his shoulder.

Charlie had to grit her teeth to keep from squealing like a puppy at the pair of them.

* * *

On the way to Target, Charlie kidnapped Cas, hoping to get him to spill about his feelings. Sam tagged along, despite feeling like a pigtail-clad, jumper-wearing seventh-grader getting ready for a gossip session.

"So, guys, did you like the movie?" Charlie asked carefully. Sam nodded, waiting for Cas to take the floor.

"I enjoyed it greatly. Humankind truly amazes me with its capacity for relating adventures. Dean told me that I would enjoy it, and he was correct."

"That was nice of him. He knows you pretty well, doesn't he?" Sam prodded gently.

"I sometimes feel as if he knows me better than I do myself," Cas admitted.

"He really likes you," Charlie said, keeping a neutral tone of voice.

"I enjoy his company greatly," Cas replied formally, reminding Sam and Charlie further of Spock. Charlie traded a glance with Sam in the rear-view mirror.

"Well, you guys are cute together," Sam said. He could practically see himself painting his toe-nails pink and braiding friendship bracelets. It was...actually kind of fantastic, he admitted sheepishly to himself.

"I do not understand," Cas said predictably.

"You're sweet on him," Charlie translated. Cas's eyes grew wide, and he looked away, blushing, trying to hide his smille.

"I am not," he said, wholly unconvincingly.

Charlie and Sam shared a telepathic  _awwww!_

"It's okay, Cas," Sam said.

"Even if I did harbor romantic feelings for Dean, which I do not, at all, ever, I highly doubt he would harbor the same feelings," Cas said, rather sadly. "I just do not know. Human inclinations are highly confusing."

"Ask him," Charlie suggested.

"There's the Target," Sam pointed out.

"Are we tracking something?" Cas asked, confused.

"No, Cas, it's a store, " Charlie said, addressing him as Cas for the first time.

 

* * *

 

 

In the men's clothing section of Target, Charlie led Cas up and down the aisles of clothes. Cas looked somewhat overwhelmed at the selection of fabrics and colors. Dean was eyeing the selection of tee shirts, wondering what Cas might like. Kevin and Sam had wandered of to the CD department, and Crowley was perusing the cookbooks. He had put a few button downs and pairs of pants in the cart as well as a wok ("How in the name of my former dominion do you expect me to make a reasonably good stir fry in a plain old frying pan?") and Sam had selected some jeans. Kevin still had clothes from his previous life, but Charlie suggested a tee shirt with a hipstered-up Jesus for the irony value, and Kevin had loved it.

"Buy a whole bunch of music," Charlie instructed them.

Now, however, Cas was looking utterly bewildered. Jimmy had only ever needed the one outfit when Cas had occupied him, and the fallen angel had as much fashion sense as a colorblind toddler.

"I like this one," he said, holding up a shirt for his friends' approval. It was a bright blue tank top with funky designs that looked like it was ripped off of a fourteen year old skateboarder.

"Nope," Charlie vetoed, saving Dean the discomfort. "You're best off sticking to collared shirts for now, my man."

"Okay," Cas agreed, fully aware that he had no jurisdiction in the clothing department. "Dean, will you help me guess my size?" Cas asked, gesturing at a table covered in button down shirts in gentle blue and purple hues.

"How 'bout this one?" Dean asked, holding up a royal blue shirt for approval. Charlie nodded. Cas, on the other hand, looked skeptical. "Come on, man!" Dean said. "It matches your eyes." Charlie's face softened like she was shopping for puppy dogs and had just seen the cutest little one tripping over its paws. Dean glared daggers at her.

"I suppose it could work," the fallen man replied.

* * *

Two hours later, they had two shopping carts laden with stuff. "If anyone asks," Charlie had decided, "Cas here's house burned down taking all of his stuff with it. We are on an insurance-sponsored shopping spree."

Cas had chosen five variations of he shirt Dean had suggested, in different colors, three blue and two purple, when Sam and Kevin returned with Crowley in tow. Crowley had chosen three cookbooks and Sam had grabbed one as well. Kevin had found the second book on Sebastian Du Lac et al for Dean, and he had an armful of CDs. Having Charlie's slightly-unlawful debit card with its thousands of dollars urged them all to indulge themselves.

Sam had found, in the boys' department of all places, a set of bed sheets with bumblebees on them. Cas surveyed them delightedly.

"Can I get some of those, too?" Cas looked at Dean for approval, hoping that they were not too childish.

"Who do you think I got 'em for, Cas?" Sam said, smiling. Everyone had been nervous to see if Cas would freak out at the thought of actually needing to buy clothes, as it was sort of like admitting he was stuck as a human for a long period of time. But he took it in stride, eager to make Dean happy, and even chose Dean a funny pair of socks, which he hid under his clothes to present to him later. Everyone, even Crowley, was cheered up by the fallen angel's antics. They all wanted to find things that made him as happy as possible in his new existence.

"Cah-s, I found a Star Fleet shirt," he said, noting a sleek black sport coat with the silver Star Fleet insignia emblazoned on the front of it. It looked really comfortable. Cas immediately tried it on over his tee shirt.

It looked good on him. No, it looked really, really good on him, accentuating his toned arms and slender frame. Dean had a chance to look at the angel's body closely. And he was really, really turned on... Cas's arm muscles flexed as he adjusted the shirt, and he made a little humming noise in approval. He moved to take off the shirt, and it exposed a few inches of quietly toned abs.

In short, Cas had a really nice body.

 _Dean, you're staring again_ , he thought and forced himself to turn away. He was secretly pleased at his body's reaction to Cas's.

_Well, I'm attracted to his body as well as his personality, so at least that will not be an issue._

Then he began to worry about the sexual aspects of their potential relationship.

 _Cas is so inexperienced with all of this. Will he even_ want _anything...physical? He is a human now, though, so maybe he'll get... urges._

_Dean. It's Cas. Stop it._

"Dean? You okay?" Charlie asked. She had seen him staring at Cas, watched his tongue flicker out over his lips at the sight of the fallen angel's body...

"Huh? Just fine. Peachy." Dean shook his head to clear it of the... interesting images that currently threatened to overtake him, most of them involving him and Cas in rather compromising situations.

Thank God for denim's concealing powers.

* * *

Dean decided to buy Cas a soda at the little in-store cafe area. He had enjoyed the Fanta slushie earlier, so Dean imagined he would like Mountain Dew. Charlie shooed them away as she checked out, knowing that Cas, by being his normal self, might raise some awkward questions.

"Try this," Dean urged, bringing the refillable cup back to Cas, who sat at the table studying a People magazine someone had left there.

"Dean, these Kardashians are disturbing," he said, drawing a deep chuckle from Dean. "Do they have some sort of obsession with the letter K?"

"I don't know, Cas," Dean admitted, sitting down across from him. "Do you think we should hunt them?"

"They are alarming. I do not believe they are one hundred percent human," Cas confided. "The oddly shaped eyebrows suggest that at least this Khloe Kardashian is part reptile."

Dean choked on his- Cas's- Mountain Dew.

"I would not be surprised, " he said. "Now try this. I think you will like it." Dean watched Cas bring the cup to his lips, waiting eagerly to see his reaction.

"This is a fantastic invention," Cas said, eyes wide, after having downed half of the glass. Dean smiled.

"I am glad you enjoyed it," he said. Cas finished the drink in silence, a look of utter concentration on his face.

"Um. There's free refills," Dean suggested.

Cas consumed more Mountain Dew than Dean had ever seen consumed in his entire life. Combined.

* * *

"I'm hungry," Kevin said again as they loaded their purchases into the cars.

"I'm not, I had a bunch of popcorn," Dean replied. Charlie, behind his back, fist-bumped Sam.

"I am simply fah-mished," Crowley said.

"Me three," Sam added.

"We should go grab some lunch. Are you coming, Cas?"

"No, I consumed copious amounts of a beverage entitled Mountain Dew."

"Copious," Dean snorted. "You practically drank a lake of Dew." Sam narrowed his eyes in a way that clearly meant you are making no sense, Dean.

"Why don't you guys head back and start dinner, and we can go grab a quick bite of pizza or something?" Charlie asked, as if the idea had just suddenly occurred to her.

"I guess," Dean said, shrugging.

"I hear Burgatory is a good restaurant," Crowley said, commandeering Charlie's front seat.

"They make killer shakes," Charlie confirmed. They piled into her car and drove off as if they were being tailed by a Red Bull-fueled Wendigo.

"Those guys are up to something fishy," Dean commented to Cas as they displeasure out of the shopping center.

* * *

Cas hadn't spoken since they pulled out of the parking lot ten minutes ago. He watched Dean watch the road, watched the road when Dean's eyes flickered in his direction. The tension was palpable, and Dean was sorely regretting not hanging around for dinner. He half expected a moment where he and Cas both reached for the radio simultaneously, like in the chick flicks. But Cas kept his hands folded neatly in his lap. The silence felt heavy somehow, like if he had been working on the underside of an elevated car and someone had clipped the suspension cables.

His heart hammered in his chest, and his slippery palms had trouble gripping the steering wheel effectively.

 _Damn it Winchester, man up. You are_ not _a high school freshman with her first date or something._

Then, as he watched Cas inspect the double yellow line, the fallen man licked his chapped lips absently and Dean nearly swerved off the road.

 _Fuck. I am_ completely _a high school freshman on her first date._

"Is there something wrong, Dean?" Cas looked at him, genuinely concerned. His gravelly voice made Dean's heart palpitate uncomfortably. He dug his nails into the steering column.

"Fine, Cas, just fine." Dean's voice came out deeper than usual. He felt like his throat had been lines with sandpaper. He cleared his throat, with absolutely no affect. "Fine. Absolutely, completely fine."

"I may be wrong," Cas replied after a good minute or two of consideration. "But I believe the fact that you had to re-state your fine-ness four times drives home the fact that you are not, indeed, fine."

Dean felt as if he had just dived into a swimming pool of steaming water. Heat cascaded over his crown, across his face, down over his chest, and through his spinal cord and pooled in his abdomen. Cas's voice, combined with the veiled implication he made, turned Dean on beyond belief. The road blurred as he felt his jeans becoming far too tight.

"I need to pull over for a moment," he choked out, not willing to meet Cas's eyes. He swayed onto the shoulder of the deserted road; sloppily at best, and closed his eyes.

_Deep breaths, Winchester. Snap the hell out if it._

Then Cas placed the inside of his wrist on Dean's forehead and he lost all ability to think, all ability to breathe, process the world around him. Cas's skin felt clammy.

"I have seen people gauge the temperature of other people by placing their hands or wrists on their foreheads. Dean, you are dangerously feverish. I worry for your health-"

"Shut up, Cas," Dean managed. He reached up and threw Cas's wrist off of him. He faintly registered Cas moving away, and chased away the thought of hurting his angel's feelings.

"Dean...

"You...

"Sick...

"Calling Sam."

"Don't."

"Must call."

"Not sick, Cas,"

"...sure?

"...pale."

Dean took a huge breath, fumbled with his seat belt for a moment before clicking it open, and grabbed a fist full of Cas's (his) shirt, pulling him closer and closer until they collided, the world outside of the Impala falling to pieces and realigning, scrambled, yet correct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm a terrible terrible terrible person. This story has approximately 70,000 words over on Fan Fiction dot net, where it's posted under the name 'theconsultingtardisbananaangel'. Go read it there, cause I forget to update here, like a lot.


	11. Dominoes Collapse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON I AM WAAAAAAAAAAAAAY FARTHER ON THIS FIC OVER AT FFNET IT HAS 73K+ WORDS *bawls* 
> 
>  
> 
> I'm theconsultingtardisbananaangel over there, so if you wanna go check it out, doooo it.

Cas did not expect Dean to kiss him. He watched his friend become ill, feverish and flushed, and was concerned. He offered to call Sam, to call a team of emergency medical technicians, but Dean, stubborn as ever, refused.

He didn't know what to do for his friend, and being so helpless frightened him. What if Dean got injured on a hunt and Cas was still power-less?

_Wait, why is he moving- oh._

Dean's lips felt soft and warm against his own chapped ones, and he felt a rush of affection join with his confusion.

_Dean is ill, he does not know what he is doing-_

Dean caressed Cas's face with his hand, and all thoughts flew away like startled birds. The hunter moaned into the kiss, and Cas felt an alien heat build up in his chest and abdomen.

But the kiss was over as suddenly as it had begun, and as Dean pulled back sheepishly, Cas felt more alone than ever. They sat in an excruciatingly awkward silence, faces flushed, eyes everywhere but each other. Cas wanted to grip Dean's shoulders, to shake him, to demand an explanation.

_Did I do something wrong?_

_Why did he kiss me?_

_Why did he stop?_

_What do I say to him now?_

_What if he doesn't like me anymore?_

_What if he makes me leave?_

"Um," Dean said finally. "Sorry about that."

Cas's heart dropped.

_He doesn't like me, and now he is definitely going to make me go. He is going to kick me out of the bunker and I will have no place on Earth to go to._

_It's what you deserve, Castiel,_ a nasty voice inside of his head insisted _. You wrecked Heaven and now you are homeless. What gives you the right to a home, a family, when you turned everyone out? The innocent angels might deserve a home, but you don't, you useless piece of-_

 _You_ human.

_You deserve this._

"I apologize, Dean," Cas finally said.

"No, it's not- don't- ugh," Dean said. He took a deep breath and started driving again.

_Now look what you did, you ass-butt. You ruin everything. You ruined the Winchesters. You ruined your garrison. You ruined Samandriel and Balthazar and so many others. You ruined Heaven._

_I ruined Dean._

Dean all but punched the stereo, causing a raucous tune to blast out. The music bothered Cas, but he didn't care. He welcomed the discomfort caused by the Coven of Blue Oysters or whatever the Hell they were called.

_I ruined Dean._

They didn't speak again all the way home.

* * *

As soon as the Impala slowed down enough, Cas jumped out and walked towards the door of the bunker. Dean felt like shit. Cas had seemed so startled that he had stopped as soon as he regained control of himself, and now his friend was jumpy and silent. Dean spent the remainder of the drive beating himself up.

_He's an angel, an innocent, naive, virgin angel, you can't just kiss him and expect everything to be all fine and dandy._

His fears had been confirmed when Cas had all but shut himself down. He was panicking internally, praying to whomever was listening now that Cas had fallen, praying that the angel didn't... whatever. Didn't hate him, didn't want to leave, didn't think that Dean was just trying to sleep with him.

Now, back at the bunker, Dean's heart fell as Cas practically dove out of the car and scrambled towards the entrance.

_Fuck. You broke it, Dean._

* * *

When the other four returned from lunch, they noticed that the bags were still sitting in the Impala.

"Maybe they were too busy to bring them in," Charlie hypothesized.

"Ew," Sam said. As much as he wanted his brother to be happy, there were some things he did not need to think about. Ever.

He didn't need to think about it long, however, because as soon as he had grabbed an armful of shopping bags there was a loud gunshot, and Crowley shouted in agony.

"Get down," Kevin said, tackling Charlie, pulling them both behind her car. Sam ducked behind the Impala as more shots rang out. He poked his head up briefly to look through the Impala's windows, trying to see where the shots were coming from.

They were humans, at least, human-looking. They were all shapes and sizes, and Sam was a little perturbed at the sight of an elderly lady wielding an assault rifle. They were coming out from behind the trees, surrounding the two cars, firing. A bullet shattered the Impala's left passenger window, and another was lodged in Charlie's back windshield. Sam shielded his head with the bag of cookbooks, knowing it wouldn't do much but slow the trajectory if a bullet came towards his head. He fumbled with his keys and opened the car, diving onto the floor under the backseat, panting heavily. Charlie and Kevin had shimmied under her car, and God only knew where Crowley went. Sam cursed himself for not carrying a weapon; but guns were frowned upon during shopping trips.

"What the hell?" Dean's voice sounded dimly behind the veil of whizzing bullets. One of the assailants shouted something to the other one something that sounded like a battle command.

_Damn it, that's Enochian._

"Dean, what's going- oh, my Father..." Cas had apparently joined them, and one of the angels shouted something. The assault slowed and one of the former angels jumped out of a tree.

"Castiel," said a deep voice.

"Aziel," Cas said tentatively.

"Have you anything to say for yourself?" The bullets had stopped completely and Sam sat up slowly. Cas stood in the doorway, and Dean was in front of him, poised in a protective stance. On the other side of the car, Crowley was lying face-down, arm bleeding profusely.

"Greetings, Jeremiah, Azuniel, Dmitri, Sarakiel, Astrid," Castiel said in a brave voice, but Sam knew him well enough to recognize the falter. "How many are you?"

The angel in the elderly woman barked something in Enochian.

"You should know, Azuniel, that I have lost the ability to converse in our native tongue," Cas said. Sam's chest ached momentarily for his friend. He had fallen further than they had thought. Apparently, this was new information to Dean too; he glanced imploringly at Cas, clearly wanting to ask him why he hadn't said that before. Cas gave a minuscule shake of his head, signaling  _not now._

"Azuniel was simply wondering why we didn't just kill you without any questions," an angel decked out in a teenage girl translated. She looked largely uncomfortable being there.

"Thank you, Sarakiel," Cas said genuinely. He walked out of the doorway, brushing off Dean who attempted to shield him again. "Further, my brothers, I invite you to shoot. I welcome death, for it is an opportunity to return home. Do you not think that I have contemplated doing so myself?" Dean looked horror-stricken.

"Cas-"

"Not now, Dean," Cas said, remaining eerily calm. He then turned to address the admittedly small assembly of heavenly Host. "Which do you think would be greater punishment: to experience a moment of physical agony and then be in my Heaven or to continue to suffer here on Earth, in a lifetime of emotional agony?"

Dean backed away, looking shell-shocked. He leaned against the wall, eyes wide at the implications that the fallen angel made.

"He's playing you, Aziel," said an attractive twenty-something with stubble enough to put Cas's growing beard to shame. He raised his pistol, aiming unwaveringly at Cas's head.

"Stand down, Dmitri," Aziel demanded gruffly.

"Shoot the elder Winchester," an angel suggested from above. Sam looked up and realized at least a half of a dozen angels were perched in trees, clutching sniper rifles. Suddenly, there were as many dancing red spots on Dean's forehead. Cas's eyes grew panicked briefly before he got a hold of himself and returned his face to its previous, emotion-neutral state.

"Ezekiel, state your intent," Aziel ordered. The angel who had just spoken crowed something in Enochian. Aziel considered for a moment and returned his gaze to the pair by the door.

"The greatest punishment would be for you to continue existing without that maggot-infested whore for whom you fell so low," he stated, voice slippery, gesturing towards Dean. He was obviously pleased at this notion.

In a gesture that he suspected wasn't entirely his own idea, Sam crossed himself, bringing his fingers from his head to his chest and then on either side of the second location. He had seen Catholic people do this, and it felt like a wordless cry to God, anything to save his brother and his friend. Dean's eyes were closed, and his lips moved in his own silent prayer.

But then, if God still cared, they would not be in this mess.

"No," Cas croaked. "The Righteous Man is no longer righteous. You would be removing a burden," he said. Dean stared, clearly more upset by Cas's words than the laser points dancing across his chest, neck and head. "I care for the brothers Winchester no longer. Dean," he said, hissing the name, "is a lowly, lice-infested annoyance. I wish I had left him in Azazel's hands."

" _Lies_ ," Ezekiel hissed. "Do you not remember the immense sacrifices that Castiel-" the name was hissed like a swear word- "made for that slug?"

Aziel seemed to have had enough of the talk. He accosted Cas, the hand not occupied by the pistol curling into a fist. Then, he ditched the gun, tossing it aside, where Azuniel caught it fluidly despite her elderly appearance. Aziel placed both hands on Cas's shoulders, pushing him down onto his knees.

"Beg for your life, wingless scum," he growled.

"I refuse," Cas whispered insolently.

"BEG!"

"No."

Aziel slammed a fist into Cas's nose, eliciting a loud crunch. Cas closed his eyes, trrying not to sway from the dizzying pain. His nose began to gush blood, coursing down his face, over his lips, pooling into the hollow of his throat.

"WINGLESS WHORE!" Aziel bellowed. He gestured to Azuniel for his pistol, caught it without turning around. "BEG!" He slammed the butt of the pistol into Cas's head, directly behind his ear. That's a concussion, if he's lucky, Sam thought.

"I will not," Cas said calmly. "I refuse. Take my life, junk-less," he continued. Dean opened one eye at that. Sam wondered if he had missed something.

"I hope you are smote by God himself," Aziel hissed, seething. With another blow from the pistol, he sent Cas careening towards the ground, face in the gravel. He kicked Cas in the rib cage, earning another crack and a low grunt from Cas. He walked around to Cas's legs, scrutinizing them carefully. Blood from Cas's nose began to spread onto the gravel beneath him.

"No," Dean said.

Aziel brought his foot up and stomped, hard, on Cas's right foot. The bloodied angel shrieked inhumanely as the bones snapped. Dean let out a strangled yell and moved to comfort him, but was stopped short as another shot was fired. Blood blossomed in Aziel's chest, and he fell backwards, swaying. He was dead before he hit the ground, a look of malice eternally frozen on his face. Sarakiel stood behind him, gun raised, looking shocked at what she had just done. Ezekiel's gun whipped through the air and it was Sarakiel's turn to clutch at her chest.

"No," an angel, no, a young girl, shrieked, and ran foward, holding Sarakiel as she gasped for breath. "Sara. Sara, please," she whimpered, rocking her sister's broken body back and forth, singing quietly in Enochian. Sarakiel reached a hand upwards to gently ghost across the smaller angel's face, leaving a beautiful stripe of deep maroon across her pale cheek. Then, it fell limply by her side, and her head lolled back.

The child shrieked loudly, a heartbreaking howl that sent shivers through Sam's spine.

"Sarakiel," she whined plaintively, tears coursing down her face, mingling with her sister's blood. She stood up shakily, turning slowly to face Ezekiel in the trees.

"Astrid, Sarakiel was a traitor," Azuniel hissed at the young girl, who had her own gun trained, hand trembling, on Ezekiel. Astrid whipped around, aiming at Azuniel's grey-haired head.

"Brother, please calm down," the bearded angel known as Dmitri pleaded to Astrid.

Astrid pointed her gun once again at Ezekiel, but she looked less confident by the second. Sam's heart ached for her, as he knew perfectly well what Astrid was going through, having experienced it for himself all too many times.

"You killed Sara," she murmured softly, a coldness creeping into her voice. "I- I loved her," she said, voice breaking. "I was in love with her."

"That is blasphemous," Azuniel said. Without hesitation, she shot Astrid in the stomach, not a direct kill but one that would end her within a few minutes. Astrid sank to her knees, gazing plaintively at Cas, who had rolled over, helplessly watching the bloodbath unfold around him.

It wasn't a blame-filled, abhorring look, it was a look of shared sorrow. A look that was an apology and a letter of forgiveness all at once. With her free hand, Astrid held her wound.

Then, slowly, she raised her gun and aimed it at her throat.

"No," Sam murmured as the young girl shakily pulled the trigger.

A loud bang echoed around the clearing, and Astrid's body was sent flying backwards. Cas let out a choked sob, coughing as blood rushed into his mouth and down his throat.

Astrid's suicide spurred the angel Dmitri into action. He snapped Azuniel's neck, apologizing, and began climbing nimbly up Ezekiel's tree. The remaining angels watched from the trees, uninterfering, as he climbed, keeping opposite of Ezekiel so that he would not have a shot at him.

All too quickly, he reached the bough where Ezekiel sat. Ezekiel fumbled with his rifle, fear spread across his face.

His magazine was out of rounds.

"Sara and Astrid were in my garrison," Dmitri hissed. "You were too, Ezekiel, and I thought you were my friend," he said.

"Brother, I- I-" Ezekiel stuttered.

"SILENCE!" Dmitri roared. "You are no longer my brother."

He pulled a knife from a sheath in his pocket, driving it from the soft flesh of his throat to the crown of his head.

Sam felt sickened at this horrendous chain of events, desperate angels killing themselves and each other. He covered his eyes, hit with a wave of nausea.

Cas was choking on his blood by now, and Dean crawled over to him, setting him upright and hitting his back. Despite Cas's hurtful words from earlier, it was clear he still held the fallen angel in high regard. Cas sobbed, coughing and crying, blinded by the waves of pain shooting through his foot. He sank into Dean, allowing himself to be rocked in the same way Astrid had cradled Sarakiel until her death.

Sam waited, heart thudding, for some other angel to kill Dmitri. The angels had died as dominoes, crumbling one after the other, and it seemed that they would eliminate each other until only one remained. But nobody seemed to care much for Ezekiel, and they watched silently as their brother pushed Ezekiel from the tree limb, body thumping on the forest floor. Dmitri grasped the tree, hyperventilating, crying for his fallen sisters (brothers?) Sarakiel and Astrid.

Sam guessed it was safe to get out of the car, and he got up, swaying dizzily. His blood pressure had been dangerously low after the trials, and sudden movements were not his friend. Charlie and Kevin crawled out from under the car, surveying the damage and bloodshed. Kevin kicked Crowley roughly in the ribs in lieu of making sure he was okay, and the ex-demon grunted and rolled over. His gunshot wound had stopped bleeding, and Sam guessed that it was mostly superficial.

Then, one of the angels-turned-sniper muttered something in Enochian at his brother beside him in the tree, who nodded eagerly.

"Castiel. Aziel may have been willing to spare you," he said, "but I am next in charge after Azuniel and I am unwilling to do so." He aimed. Dean curled his body around Cas.

"No," he said quietly.

"Nolo quetus aberanth lacrimabat," Kevin chanted, raising his arm. The angels gazed at him, confused, and Sam watched as he continued uttering the words. His eyes glowed golden. "Portuus omni, nomini patruus, celestii erunt necrimabat!"

There was a strong gust of wind. The long-forgotten Target bags began to rustle violently, and the five remaining angels looked at each other. A golden mist filled the clearing, and the angels faded slowly from view.

"They're gone," Charlie said finally. Dean looked up, unfolding himself carefully. Then, he seemed to remember Cas's scathing remarks, and he bluntly dropped his friend, who grunted as his broken rib twinged painfully. The hunter wiped the blood on Cas's shirt and stalked back inside, shoulders drooping. Kevin collapsed, panting.

"Kevin, where the hell did that come from?" Sam asked. He had never heard the spell before in his life.

"I don't know, it just came to me," the young man said eventually. "I think it's Latin. And I have a feeling that it wasn't a spell before now."

Sam opened up his phone, typing a note to himself.

_nolo quetus aberanth lacrimabat portuus omni, nomini patruus, celestii erunt necrimabat_

An angel-banishing spell was always handy.

"Why didn't it send away Cas?" Charlie wondered.

"Or him?" Crowley added, pointing to Dmitri, who was still perched in the tree, with his good arm.

Cas tried to speak, but he choked, coughing out blood. Charlie took over where Dean left off.

"Hey Kev, will you grab me one of those ginger ales, man? You rock," she said as she thumped Cas's back. She held up the sleeve of her cardigan to mop up the blood so no more would go down his throat. Cas searched her face, clearly wondering why she was being so nice to him.

"Here you go," Kevin said, handing a can of Canada Dry to Charlie. They'd stopped for some groceries on the way home.

"Maybe you only sent away the ones you believed to be dangerous," Sam theorized, watching Dmitri cry and clutch the tree.

"That makes sense," Kevin agreed. "Being a prophet has its perks," he said, not sarcastically.

"You're practically a Disney princess. Drink up, sweetheart," Charlie said, opening the can of soda and gently tipping some into Cas's mouth once most of the blood was cleared away. He guided it to his lips, sipping tentatively, then gulping it down when he didn't choke.

"Your name is Dmitri, right?" Sam asked the man in the tree.

"Yes, that is what my brothers call me," he responded, nodding.

"Want a ham sandwich, Dmitri?" Charlie called.

"No, thank you, kindly human, I shall be on my way." Dmitri began to climb nimbly down the tree.

"Do you need a ride somewhere?"

"If I could have the direction to the nearest Inter State, I can be out of your skin." Sam smiled a bit. He found it amusing when angels mixed up common phrases such as  _out of your hair_ and  _under your skin_.

"It's that way," Kevin said. Dmitri began to walk.

"Fare thee well, Castiel, and watch yourself."

Cas finally ceased coughing and motioned for Charlie to help him stand. Blood covered the lower half of his face, and he had a nasty purple bruise forming across his neck. Dean's shirt was drenched in red stains, and there was quite a bit on his pants as well.

Cas somehow managed to stand up on his own, despite the look of immense pain that flickered over his face.

"Sam, can you get me a shovel?" Cas asked, masking the agony that shot through his leg.

"Cas, you need to see a doctor," Charlie urged.

"Sam, shovel," he repeated, reminding Sam of the days when Cas was something to be feared instead of a loyal friend.

Sam went inside to retrieve the shovel, passing Dean's room where the door was shut tight, music blaring.  _He must have taken Cas's words harder than I thought_ , Sam mused.

Returning several minutes later with the shovel, he saw that Kevin and Crowley had gone inside, and Charlie was attempting to coax Cas into her car.

"I am not going to allow myself the luxury of a doctor until my brothers are buried," he was insisting as Sam came back out.

"Cas, you're going to do more damage this way," Charlie said. Sam put a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head, silently directing her to go inside. She shot him an are you sure glance before grabbing the perishables and heading in.

"Shovel," Sam said simply. He knew that there would be no stopping Cas once he got an idea in his head, and that it would be better for him to learn these things from experience. He grabbed a few bags from the Impala and shut the door, put away the purchases, and grabbed a beer, giving Cas a minute or two to convince himself that he was alone. Then, he went back outside and watched silently as Cas dug a grave for Sarakiel and Astrid.

The fallen angel leaned heavily on his good leg, cries of pain escaping once or twice every few minutes. He swayed a few times, and Sam was almost ready to call an ambulance, but the stubborn man kept at it for hours. Finally, he had cleared out a four foot deep grave, four feet by six feet, and when he moved to bring over the angels' bodies, he passed out, falling to the ground with the look of a man who had lost all hope.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam rushed out to where Cas had collapsed by the grave. He considered calling Dean out to come help, but Dean was apparently mad at Cas. Besides, the fallen angel had been steadily losing weight. If a teenager had adopted his eating patterns, they would be admitted to the hospital for an eating disorder. Even in his weakened state, Sam picked up the fallen man with ease, careful not to disturb his broken rib. He buckled Cas into the Impala, rolling down all the windows so that the broken window wasn't painfully obvious. He sent a quick text to Charlie, Kevin, and after a brief hesitation, Dean.

_taking cas 2 hospital, may be a while_

_sam_

He didn't realize how late it was until he noticed the orange hues seeping into the sky. Cas whimpered softly with every breath.

Something about caring for the fallen angel made Sam sad. Maybe it was seeing the mighty, powerful being reduced to a bloody, skinny mess. Maybe it was the feeling that it should be Dean taking him to the hospital, not Sam. Maybe it was the fact that he needed a hospital in the first place.

"You're going to be okay, buddy," Sam assured the sleeping lump of fallen angel.

* * *

Sam left Cas in the car as he went into the lobby of the hospital's emergency room. Pushing past a bored looking teenager with a torn suture on his forehead, he made his way to the registration.

"Excuse me, ma'am, my- I have a man in my car, he's unconscious, I need help," he said, panting slightly. The woman watched him for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to believe him, but pressed a button on the intercom and ordered a stretcher down the the parking lot.

"Where are you parked, son?"

"Uh, seven-B. It's a sixty-seven Chevy Impala, black, windows down, license plate number-"

"Okay, sweetheart, calm down. They've found it. They're loading him up now. Sam sighed in relief. Hospital visits had always been a result of ambulance rides or a conscious brother walking in of his own volition. He had been playing by ear.

"Thank you," he said, grasping the woman's hand and shaking it heartily.

"All right, dear, just sit down over in that booth and Marin will be in with the paperwork."

Sam froze.

Paperwork.

Did he pull out Jimmy Novak's identification cards, or had he been reported missing or presumed dead? What if he said that he had just found him on the street? But what if they didn't let him go home?

Sam grabbed his cell phone, nodding to the woman, and walked over to the booth. He dialed Dean's number.

"You had _better_  be dying, Sammy," Dean said, picking up in the middle of the first ring. That wasn't like Dean...

"It's Cas, Dean."

Silence.

"Fuck," Dean said eventually.

"He's gonna be okay, but-"

"Good. I don't care. Bye."

Dean hung up. Sam swore loudly, earning a disgraced look from a mother of a toddler girl.

"Mommy, mommy, what does 'fuck' mean?" Sam cringed, but the girl was not his problem right now. He sort of wished she was; she seemed more mature than Dean at the present moment.

He tried again, willing Dean to hear him out.

"Dean, I-"

"Sam, I don't care about what happens to Cas. Cut his damn foot off."

"Dean, just- just hear me out," Sam pleaded, shocked at his brother's behavior.

"You have thirty seconds. Twenty nine. Twenty eight. Twenty seven-"

"Yes, yes, all right, got it. Dean, what are our current aliases? They're gonna need some I. D. soon," he asked.

"I am Marcus Pendragon and you are his half-brother, Luke Cervine," Sam said.

"Pendragon? Seriously?"

"Shut up. I was watching something about Lancelot or whatever."

"Okay. Thanks. Can you send me a picture of the Social Security numbers?"

"Yeah." Dean hung up.

"See you, too," Sam said, rolling his eyes. His phone beeped with the images a few seconds later.

"Um, Mister...?" A voice sounded behind him. Sam whipped around, startled.

"Marin?"

Marin stared.

"Sam Winchester?"

* * *

Dean put away his wallet, tossing it across the room petulantly. The CD currently playing full blast began to skip, and he shot the radio with his handgun. The music stopped and he tossed his gun on the floor to join the wallet and fake I. D.

He relayed the day's events in his mind, starting when he woke up in Cas's bed. It seemed like ages ago now. Then, dodging people's questions and implications, eating breakfast, getting ready to go to Star Trek. Buying Cas the drinks, waiting for his approval like a little kid giving his mom some wildflowers for Mother's Day. Shopping, watching his delight at the bee sheets and the Star Fleet jacket, taking in the sight of his body in the clothing section.

Taking Cas home in the Impala and getting immensely turned on for no good reason; feeling wired just by his presence.

Kissing him.

Oh God, that had felt so good; taking four and a half years- four and a half years- worth of tension and flushing it away, finally tasting his angel's lips on his.

Then, the regret that followed. Cas had acted so out-of-sorts, and then he had tried to apologize- why the fuck does Cas apologize so much?

At the bunker, Cas all but diving out of the car, clearly wanting to get as far away from him as possible. Retreating to their bedrooms, Dean listening at the wall to make sure that Cas wasn't packing.

Finally, the gun shots and the shouts, and everything was simple again. Dean Winchester was not made for feelings; he was made for fighting and battles, pissed-off creatures and idiotic refusals to comply.

Cas had learned that from the best.

Rushing forward to protect Cas from Ass-iel or whatever that BASTARD's name was.

And then, Cas had said those things. Said that he didn't want Dean, that he was a lice-ridden burden, that he wanted to leave him in Hell.

That had stung, especially after the ill-received kiss off the interstate.

After that, it was all angels shooting each other and Ass-hat-iel breaking Cas's foot. Then, it was over, and he went to his room, where he still was now.

He knew things had been awkward around the fallen angel, but he had simply chalked it up to romantic-slash-sexual-slash-brotherly-slash-whatev er tension, not to Cas wanting to leave.

His worst fears were coming true. Cas, shrugging him off like a moth-eaten, ill-fitting, out-of-style fur coat.

Cas, human, binge drinking.

Cas, human, breaking his foot.

Cas, human, giving up on life. Giving up on Dean. Giving up on himself.

 _Whatever you do, whatever choices you make, you will always end up her_ e, a long-forgotten whisper reminded him.

Dean went to the kitchen for a bottle of whisky, not bothering with a glass, and downed it all without even sitting down. For dessert, he grabbed three beers and headed back to his room.

 _Tonight is going to be a long night_ , he thought, curling up in bed, subconsciously yearning for another warm body to lean into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps this would bring us up to the end of chapt. 19 on ffnet so


End file.
